


Jeremy

by Keeper of Tales (CodenameLoki)



Series: Jeremy [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward gay feels, Blow Jobs, Coffeeshop AU, Dean Ambrose: Food Enthusiast, Dean is the unicorn of shame, Dean's Past Is A Thing, Dirty Talk, Domestic Violence, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Emergency Medical Technicians, Emergency room, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, Jeremy the Goldfish Cracker, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of Prostitution, Mood Swings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overdose, Overdosing, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Restraints, Rimming, Roman is the world's largest EMT, Roman's sarcastic eyebrows, Seth's nervous buttsweat, Slow Build, Slurs, This taglist AND THIS FIC have spiraled completely out of control, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vomit, in case you forgot that Dean is mentally ill, mentions of child abuse, mentions of physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameLoki/pseuds/Keeper%20of%20Tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s a homeless junkie with anger issues and a goldfish cracker who’s his only friend. </p><p>Seth’s just a good guy with a penchant for putting his foot in his mouth who works at a coffeeshop. </p><p>Roman is the world’s largest EMT, and somehow he gets wound up in all of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

That weird junkie guy was back, Seth noticed. He crouched down to pull the last rack from the display, trying to ignore the shouting outside the coffee house. He didn't particularly want to have to get involved with the guy again, he just wanted to finish closing and go home.

He sighed and dropped his rag when the bell over the door jangled, standing up behind the counter and putting on his customer service expression. Oh. Great. Junkie guy was standing in the doorway, scowling up at the bell like it had personally affronted him. Seth cleared his throat. 

“Help you? We’re closing up, so we don’t really have a whole lot-”

“Just need coffee,” the guy replied, grinning at… well, something over Seth’s right shoulder, his eyes completely unfocused. His tongue was working itself nervously against his bottom lip, and Seth schooled his gaze to not look directly at it. “Black, like my soul and big like my d-”

“I can do that,” Seth interrupted, before the guy could finish that sentence. He snagged a large cup off the stack and moved to the coffee pots, watching the guy out the corner of his eye. He was drumming on the counter with one hand, tapping his fingers on his leg with the other, and still staring at the space Seth had just vacated. He sure didn’t look like a typical junkie, Seth thought, although he’d caught the guy smoking…. something in the alley, with a little glass pipe, so one couldn’t always count on appearance. He was tall, broad shoulders and lean, tapered waist, with strong arms and long legs; Seth wondered if he had a gym membership to go along with his dirty shirt and jeans and increasing twitchiness. 

“Name?” 

“Hmm?” Blue eyes moved to stare at him, his tongue still working at his lip and Seth thought that junkie guy was spacing bad- he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, no fucking wonder- and that maybe he didn’t really want to know his name anyway.

“I need your name. For the cup.”

Junkie guy let out a shrill, brittle laugh. “I’m the only one here, dude.”

Seth shrugged, sheepish. “Yeah, but it’s policy.”

“Policy? You sure y’ain’t just after it for nefarious purposes?” Junkie guy’s tongue slipped out the side of his mouth and Seth bit the inside of his cheek. The guy’s clothes were filthy, he was clearly _on_ something, and he wasn’t particularly pleasant to deal with, so why did that tongue interest him so much? He marshalled himself and took another stab at it.

“I’m guessing they want to know who screwed up the order if someone complains.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to put _your_ name on it, then? Fuck’s your name, anyway?” Junkie guy moved closer and squinted at Seth’s nametag. “Kinda dumbass name is Seth?”

“It’s _my_ name,” Seth snapped back. He brandished his sharpie at junkie guy, like maybe that would save him if this guy decided to jump over the counter. Junkie guy barked out another one of those brittle laughs, his red-rimmed eyes shining as he stepped back and put his hands up.

“Alright, okay, my name is Dean.”

Seth slapped a lid on the coffee and scribbled Dean in the angriest way he could. Fuck but this guy had him flustered. Wasn’t the first time a dickhead had mocked him, and it wouldn’t be the last, but being made fun of by someone who looked like he hadn’t had a bath in a month was a little much at midnight. “Large black coffee’s gonna be a buck eighty.” And Jesus, did he ever hope this guy actually had a dollar and eighty cents, although he’d be more than happy to dip into his own tips just to get the guy out the door.

“Alright.” Junkie guy gave him an easy grin and jammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a fistful of whatever was in there and scattering it over the counter. “Gotta count, hang on.”

Seth set the cup down on the counter- that coffee was going to be stone damn cold by the time they finished this- and moved to help, but junkie guy’s hand whipped out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough. “I’ll do it m’self.”

That was just fine with Seth; he could see little wads of what looked like burnt foil and god only knew what else mixed in with the coins, and realized he didn’t really want to stick his fingers in junkie guy’s pocket debris.

“Forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five- I only got a buck sixty two.” Junkie guy appeared to be chewing his own tongue for a few seconds, then started methodically emptying his pockets onto the counter Seth had just wiped off ten minutes before. Seth bit back a sigh and waited, wondering how anyone could have that much _shit_ in their pockets.

So far, he counted one crumpled pack of cigarettes, more burnt foil, a condom, a dog biscuit, three nails, some kind of glass pipe- great, drug paraphernalia on his counter- several small shredded pieces of paper and- “Is that a fucking goldfish cracker?” He'd been startled into speech by just how ludicrous that was. It was in one of those bubble containers you got from those shitty quarter machines, even. Seth guessed it was to keep it from crumbling.

Dean looked up from his inventory and grinned- one of his front teeth was crooked, Seth noticed, but he still seemed to have roughly the correct amount. “That’s Jeremy. He’s my buddy.”

“Oookay. Look, I can cover the rest of your coffee if you haven’t got the fifteen cents or whatever it is, it’s not a big deal. Probably cold by now anyway.”

Dean scowled at him, and Seth realized that this guy apparently had some pride. “I can pay for my own fuckin coffee, bro. Just wait.”

Seth’s eye flicked to the clock over the door- what the hell, might as well shove the entire stick into the hornet’s nest he’d inadvertently poked- and he shrugged. “Not saying you can’t, but we close in one minute. I’ve still got a bunch of things to do before I can leave.”

Junkie- no, Dean- _snarled_ and slammed his fist into the small collection of coins he’d produced, sending a dime flying off the counter and Seth took a half-step back. “Okay, okay. Uh, take your time.” He crouched to pick up the dime and gingerly slid it back toward the guy. The guy who was clearly violently unstable and that Seth apparently had a talent for irritating. 

“Here. Buck eighty. Told you I could pay for it.” Dean shoved the coins toward him and started refilling his pockets as Seth swept the tobacco-flecked coins into his hand and dumped them directly into the till without bothering to count.

“Thanks. Come again,” Seth replied, mentally cursing his managers for making them say that stupid shit. He’d be more than happy if Dean walked out the door and off the edge of the planet, really, him with his pet cracker and his rage and his twitching and his pretty eyes.

 _Did I really just think that?_ Seth wondered, stepping out behind the counter as the door closed behind Dean. He flipped over the Fuck Off We’re Closed sign- it really had said that once, under the old manager, an original hippie who always smelled vaguely of pot and patchouli- and locked the door. He could see Dean standing across the street, not looking his way, just standing there under the streetlight, and he shook his head.

It wasn’t like dealing with drunks and junkies was exactly unusual, not in this area, with this job, and with these shifts, and at least this one actually had enough money to pay for his drink, albeit barely. But Seth had never met a junkie who was so well built, or who flipped from asshole to easy going to rage so quickly. He wondered if that was the drugs or if the guy was actually mentally ill or what as he finished breaking down the bakery display and cleaning up before cashing out his till- which balanced, by the way, so at least Dean could count change, even if he did carry around a goldfish cracker named Jeremy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot take credit for the Fuck Off We're Closed sign, that's from a fantastic MCU coffeeshop AU by paperclipbitch on here called We've Suffered Shipwrecks.
> 
> I normally don't post WIPS, but this seemed like a good spot to end this chapter, and I have to figure out how to structure the next part anyway.
> 
> That title is probably only funny to me. I'm bad at titles, open for suggestions for a better one.
> 
> Always open for Ambrollins prompts! Anything goes, G - NC-17, any genre, any fetish.
> 
> You can comment here or ask over here: http://codename-ambrollins.tumblr.com or on twitter @mysicksadlife


	2. Chapter 2

Seth tucked his chin and tugged his hood up farther, trying to avoid the sharp, chill wind as he trudged down the sidewalk, hands jammed into the pocket of his hoodie. Of course the baker had called in sick, and of course Paul had called him to go in and open. Not like he’d gotten home at quarter of one that morning. Not like he’d had to wake up at four am to be there by five. Not like he wasn’t even a damn manager, just a guy who had a key and couldn’t say no. 

He kicked at a stone angrily, sending it skittering across a puddle rimed with frost. The fact that he had to come in from five to seven and then back at four til midnight was shit. The fact that he didn’t even get overtime pay for it was shit. The fact that it was cold as fuck was shit, and the fact that he could see someone curled up in the recessed doorway of the coffeeshop was _utter shit_.

He stopped a couple feet away from the wide sandstone doorstep and huffed irritably. “Hey. _Hey_. You can’t sleep here, man. I gotta get in.”

The crumpled heap of material at his feet groaned and slowly started to uncurl, revealing messy hair and bright blue eyes in a shadowed, unshaved face. Junkie guy.

Dean. Seth sucked air over his teeth, suppressing a groan.“Oh. It’s you.”

“It is me,” Dean agreed, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. 

“Awesome. But you seriously can’t sleep here, man.”

Dean gestured down the street, the flat storefronts around them. “Was th’only place out of the wind.”

“Right.” Seth clenched his fingers around the keyring in his pocket, suppressing his frustration. It was cold, and he felt bad for the guy, true, but Dean also made him edgy as hell. “I get that, but it doesn’t look good, and also you block the door.”

“Doesn’t look good.” Dean scowled at him. “You think I give a shit about how your business looks? There ain’t even anyone _here_ to see me polluting your doorstep.”

“I never said you were polluting it,” Seth snapped, wondering madly if he had some sort of death wish, provoking crazy junkies that apparently were also homeless. “If my boss showed up here instead of me, you’dve had the cops called on you. And you’re _still_ blocking the damn door.” He shouldered past Dean and jammed his shaking key into the lock, wrenching the door open. 

Dean caught the edge with his arm, holding it open behind Seth. “Didn’t realize it would be such an issue for you.”

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t give a shit,” Seth replied, tugging at the door. Dean replied by tightening his grip and Seth gave up. “But it’s not. I don’t own the place.”

“You just show up three hours after you left for no reason?”

Seth blew a stray clump of blond hair out of his eyes. “Our baker is sick. Someone has to start the baking. And, since the manager never wants to show up unless he has to, that someone is me. I’m the only other one with a key. And I don’t even want to know why you know that I left three hours ago.”

“So you’re a manager or what?”

“No. And I really don’t have time to discuss my job, it’s like ten after and I actually do need to get in the kitchen.”

Dean smirked at him and shouldered the door open, moving past Seth into the darkened coffeeshop. Seth sighed and shut the door- his resources were at their lowest possible ebb, and he wasn’t up to forcing a stubborn junkie out the door he’d just barged through. He hesitated briefly before flipping the lock- if he was going to be murdered, he could at least make it that little bit harder for Dean to leave.

“So, not-manager-who-does-manager-shit,” Dean started, hopping onto the counter and swinging his booted feet freely- Seth winced and made a note to wipe that counter with straight bleach-”you bake too? Or you just a coffee jerk that got the short end of the stick?”

“Not usually.” Seth snapped on the kitchen light and started pulling the pre-mix, listening to Dean’s erratic humming behind him. “And it’s not “coffee jerk”, it’s “barista”- ignoring Dean’s mutter about how that was the stupidest word ever-“But I started here as both, then got shuffled full time to the counter when the old boss sold the place.”

“Oh, that old hippie guy. Yeah, I remember him. Used to give me leftover croissants and shit.”

“Right, he was a nice guy.” Seth emptied the pre-mix into the mixer and started filling a water jug.

“I hate people feeling sorry for me, but hey, free food, whatever.”

Seth emptied the jug, flipped the mixer on and turned to fire up the ovens. “New owner’s cracked down on that though. Says it’s product loss or some shit like that, I don’t really get the logic.” 

“Givin food to people who ain’t got none is losing product, but tossing it in the dumpster at the end of the day isn’t. What the shit?”

“I don’t get it either, man, I- _JESUS SHITTING TITS, MAN_.” Seth turned to see Dean standing _right_ behind him in the door to the kitchen and involuntarily lunged backward, cracking his head on the handle of the oven door and clutching weakly at his chest. “ _What are you doing_?!”

“Giving you a heart attack, apparently.” Dean crouched down in front of him and pulled Seth’s head forward, looking for damage. “I thought you knew I was behind you.”

“No! The last time I saw you, your ass was planted on the counter.” Seth reached up and massaged the knot forming on the back of his head with a wince. Dean dropped his hand to the filthy, torn knee of his jeans and pressed his lips into a thin line before standing abruptly.

“Sorry about that.”

“S’fine, I’m fine, my head is fine. Help me up?” Seth looked at his fingers- no blood, anyway- and reached up to Dean, who hauled him up to his feet, then stepped past him, making a show of inspecting the oven door for damage.

“Probably did more damage to the oven, let’s be honest now.”

“Oh har de har har,” Seth grumbled. “You can’t be back here, though. Health code and all.” He lifted his hand when Dean’s face darkened, cutting off a retort. “If you don’t have a food handling cert, you can’t be back here. It’s nothing personal.”

Dean considered that for a second, then nodded and retreated back to his perch on the counter.

Seth sighed, prodded the back of his head again, and started to load the ovens. He was just closing the door behind the last trays when an acrid smell crept into the kitchen. He jerked his head around and shot out the door. “Hey, you can’t smoke in here!”

Dean flicked his cigarette ash onto the floor and lifted an eyebrow. “Door’s locked.”

“So unlock it and go outside.” Seth snatched a rag and started wiping up ash, glaring at Dean, still perched on the counter, his still-burning cigarette in one hand and that stupid cracker in the other. “Seriously, why would you even think you could smoke in here?” 

Dean shrugged. “S’cold out. And I figured as soon as I left, you’d lock me out.”

Seth sighed. “You’re not supposed to be in here at all. You know I could get fired for this?”

“So how come you didn’t boot my ass back out when I came in?” Dean gestured expansively with the hand holding Jason, or Jeremy, or whatever the stupid fish cracker was called.

“Because it’s the ass crack of dawn and I’m exhausted and I didn’t have the energy to fight with you.” Seth slumped against the counter, waving smoke away from his face.

“You could just ask.”

“If I had asked, would you have left?”

Dean grinned at him and shook his head. “No.” Seth scowled.

“What do you even want?”

Dean shrugged and tapped ash onto the floor again, sending Seth scrambling with the cloth. It was a full two minutes after Seth had straightened back up that he finally answered. “Coffee’s good. Company’s better.”

“You barged into my work when we’re technically closed because you wanted my company? You know my schedule, apparently, why didn’t you just come in then?” Seth narrowed his eyes, wondering why he wasn’t actively freaked out by the development of a man he’d only spoken to a handful of times wanting to be- what? Friends?

Dean shrugged. “Don’t like people. S’why I have a fish.” He sat there, staring down at his hands, rolling his goldfish cracker’s plastic capsule between his palms as the silence stretched out between them. Seth’s eyes tracked the movement, and he wondered how long Dean had been carrying around a cracker as his “buddy”. Did he replace Jeremy with a new Jeremy when it eventually crumbled? Where did he even get the goldfish crackers? Did he have a bag stashed somewhere? Maybe he went into grocery stores and stole single goldfish crackers out of a bag on the shelf. Maybe Dean saved the crumbs and baked a whole new fish with them. Seth wondered if he was losing his mind. He didn’t even like Dean, why should he care that his only friend was, apparently, snack food? He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So, uh, I need to go pull the oven racks. Set up, start coffee. We open at six, so…”

Dean nodded and slid down from the counter. “Right, need to clear out the riff raff and get to work.” He sketched out a dramatic bow and stuffed his fishbubble into his pocket, sauntering toward the door. “See you around, Seth.”

“Yeah, uh. See you, Dean.”

He was left alone with the chimes over the door ringing faintly, ruminating over this man who had gone from being someone Seth yelled at to get away from the front of the shop to someone that had insinuated himself into Seth’s life without warning. He shook his head and went to pull the baking before the early crowd started coming in for their coffee and croissants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm completely bullshitting how a coffeeshop's bakery would run, and I fully admit it. I work in a hotel, damn it, but I think I managed to pull something believable together.
> 
> I need to elaborate on Dean's relationship with Jeremy. And Roman will show up later on, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter contains a relatively graphic depiction of a drug overdose, and involves EMTs, so if you're not okay with that... I don't know what to tell you. It's sort of central to the plot, but I'm warning anyone who may have triggers for that sort of thing.

It was official. Dean was now a fixture in Seth’s life, or at least, in his work life. Seth had accepted this, or at least, had gotten used to Dean popping in a half hour or so before the coffeeshop closed and helping to kill the end of the shift, or dropping by when he cruised past the storefront and saw the lobby empty. He’d quit picking fights out front too, which Seth appreciated. The fights in the alley were still proceeding as normal, but Seth figured he’d take what he could get as he passed a cupful of ice cubes wrapped in a rag across the counter to Dean, who was perched on one of the tall stools next to the bakery case, nursing a bleeding eye and a cut lip and rolling Jeremy across the counter with his right hand.

“Is this the part where you tell me that I should see how the other guy looks?”

Dean made a noise like a disgruntled horse and pressed the icepack against his face. His unobscured blue eye glared at Seth, who grinned back- seven weeks into their acquaintance or friendship or whatever it was, he was fairly confident Dean wouldn’t attack him for being impudent. Well, he was about 89 per cent sure, anyway, and he figured that was as close as he was ever going to get with Dean. “Why do you fight so much, anyway?”

Dean lifted one shoulder in a listless shrug. “What do you get out of it?” Seth pressed, setting his rag to the side and leaning on the counter. “Just a way to blow off steam, or do you like, make money or some shit?”

“Just like to fight,” Dean mumbled, shifting his ice pack.

“Ever considered doing it in a way where you’re not going to wind up bloody? Or at least, less bloody?”

“Like what?” Dean sneered. “You want me to join the local MMA association? I don’t think they take people like me.”

Seth crossed his arms and levelled a steady look at Dean. “People like you?” 

“Yeah. People like me. Shit costs money, y’know.”

“And you have… other things that require your funding.”

Dean glared, daring Seth to continue. Seth just keep the same steady gaze on those burning blue eyes and Dean’s lip curled when he realized he wasn’t going to win. “You know I do. Why you make me gotta say it?”

“I didn’t make you say anything, man. I know, you know, there’s nothing needs to be said.” Seth picked up his cloth and continued spritzing down the counter as the last minutes of his shift ticked off the clock. He moved past Dean to lock the door and flip the sign. “Hey, when’s your birthday?” 

Where that had come from, Seth had no damn idea; his thoughts just seemed to fall right out of his mouth when he was around Dean, and he was fairly sure it was going to earn him a punch in the mouth one day. 

“Huh? Why do you want to know that?” Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Seth held up appeasing hands.

“I’m just wondering. I mean, I have no idea how old you are. I don’t even know your last name.”

“Don’t know yours either.”

Seth considered that, and extended his arm for a handshake. “Seth Rollins. May 28, 86. Happy?”

Dean stared at the offered hand as if it might bite him before slowly extending his own. “Dean Ambrose. December 85.”

“You’re older than me. So your birthday is the entire month?” Seth asked as Dean’s callused fingers gripped his hand, his palm warm and dry, although his nails were in a state of uncleanliness that Seth didn’t want to think about.

“Nah. Seventh.”

“Lucky seven.”

Dean shook his head. “Haven’t really been all that lucky, to tell you the truth. But you probably figured that out on your own.”

“Little bit. I gotta cash out man, but I’ll let you out the back, yeah?”

“Sure. Need to go conduct some business anyway.”

Seth decided instantly that he had no interest whatsoever in whatever business that might be, he just pulled the till and followed Dean to the rear of the shop. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Haven’t missed a date yet,” Dean replied, letting himself out into the snowy darkness, the door crashing closed behind him.

Seth shook his head, and proceeded into the office, not even allowing himself to think about Dean’s choice of words. 

-

Dean would probably kill him for this, Seth decided, but he didn’t care. Dean Ambrose had opened up enough to tell Seth when his birthday was, and damn it, Seth was going to repay that somehow. He rolled the rack back into the oven and went out front when the chimes over the door jangled.

“Oh shit, hey.” Seth ducked out of the kitchen and greeted Dean, his smile fading when he realized that Dean looked like absolute hell. “Uh, you all right man? You’re all sweaty.”

“Fuckin fine, man, don’t start hassling me already, alright?”

Seth took a half-step back, blinking in confusion as he watched Dean ramble in a wide circle near the door, his tongue flicking rapidly in and out and around his mouth. He was acting even weirder than usual. “I, uh… I wasn’t-”

“I know you fuckin weren’t, don’t even worry about it.” Dean shoved his sweaty hair out of his flushed face and shook his head. “I dunno, it’s cool, just…”

“Dean, you’re not making sense.” Seth narrowed his eyes; it wasn’t exactly unusual at this point to see Dean high or anything, but this was something new. Dean was more erratic, more restless, and, as Seth tried to puzzle him out, he watched Dean lift his right arm in a jerky movement, like he was trying to do the robot or something. His left arm was clenched across his middle, like he was trying to keep his guts from bursting through his bellybutton as he shuffled away from Seth and started toward the bathroom. Seth took a step after him, before the oven buzzed nasally to announce it was finished baking, and he turned away.

-

A loud thud followed by a shattering sound, and for a brief, inane second, Seth thought the cake had exploded. But the cake did not explode. It was still sitting there, slightly collapsed. He looked up from where he was frosting- trying to frost, really, and not being very successful at it either- and frowned. The only thing behind this wall was the bathroom and the only thing- “Ah piss. Dean.” 

He dropped the spatula and hurried out of the kitchen, sparing a swift glance around to see that the place was still empty- eight pm on a Sunday, yeah- and shouldered his way into the tiny men’s room. “Oh no. Oh shit, really? Fuckin dumbass-” and he was on his knees among shards of broken mirror, kneeling next to the unconscious form on the floor, fumbling his phone from the front of his apron and keying in the three digits even a toddler probably knew while he groped around looking for a pulse. 

He dropped the phone once the operator assured him an ambulance had been dispatched, not even bothering to hang it up. Dean was still breathing, at least, although he was trembling violently and had streaks of yellow vomit all down the front of him. Seth, half-remembering some high school health class instructions, managed to push Dean onto his side, his arm outflung in front, and just sat there, in the mess of mirror shards and vomit, one trembling hand absently stroking Dean’s messy curls and the other on his chest, tracking the rapid breathing and tremors convulsing the otherwise still form of his… of his friend.

-

“10-34 at Downtown Grounds, nearest available unit please respond. 10-34 at Downtown Grounds, on 4 Centre Street. Priority One.”

Roman flicked his eyes to the clock in the dash and stifled a groan. Just great. An overdose case eight minutes before his shift ended. He loved his job, but some days- “10-4 dispatch, unit 15 en route.” He clipped the mic to the dash and punched the lights and sirens, blipping smaller vehicles out of his way as he headed out to his last call.

Open doors, drop gurney, shoulder the shop door open- Roman stopped and looked around at the lobby, the single, angry looking customer at the counter, tapping his fingers angrily. No sign of anyone needing their services. “Uh… someone call for EMS?” he called out, exchanging glances with his partner Shane.

A Hispanic-looking guy with half his long hair dyed blond stuck his head out the bathroom and waved frantically. “Over here!”

“Right, of course it’s in the bathroom,” Shane muttered. Roman agreed with the sentiment- it was going to be impossible to maneuver in there.

“Probably a tiny bathroom, and we’ll have to haul the guy out like a bag of potatoes,” he agreed. “I’ll go in.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and pushed his way into the bathroom, his feet crunching over broken glass and-

“Oh god!” the guy with the long hair exclaimed,”-you just killed Jeremy.”

“Who?” Roman was kneeling next to his patient, immediately assessing his symptoms and only half listening as he worked on the guy. “This guy’s not dead.”

“No, not him, he’s Dean.” Seth scuttled out of the way, wedging himself under the sink, his eyes tracking between Dean’s still form, the biggest paramedic he’d ever seen, and the crushed plastic bubble containing the powdery orange remains of Dean’s only friend.

Aside from him, he supposed.

“Right, Dean. Okay, Shane, you think you can get a backboard in here?”

“I can try,” Shane replied doubtfully, peering in the door.

Seth realized he was taking up entirely too much room, and got up, cracking the back of his neck on the sink and yelping. He rubbed at it as he exited the room, and stood nearby, nibbling on his thumb and focusing on the noise from in the bathroom. He dropped his hand when they carried Dean out with a bag over his face and a tube down his throat. Still unconscious, still covered in puke. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Dunno,” Godzillamedic replied, strapping Dean down. “Depends on the docs at St Joseph’s. All we can do right now is keep him ventilated and run a line to try and prevent him seizing until we get there.”

“Christ,” was all Seth could manage, his mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. “You’re taking him to St Joe’s?” he called after the EMTs as they hustled Dean out. Roman glanced back long enough to nod, and then the door was swinging shut.

Seth stumbled to the counter on shaking legs, ignoring the “ahum” from the man standing there, and snatched up the phone. “Sorry, not serving right now,” he shot at the guy- really, he was going to huff and glare about coffee when he just saw someone stretchered out the front door?- and waited for his boss to pick up. “Paul, hey, look, I need you to come in right now, one of… one of my friends just got taken to ER, and I have to go. Yeah, I know I only have a few hours left, but I never, ever leave early, Paul, you know I don’t… alright, yes, thank you.”

He ripped off his apron as the door closed violently- jerk, honestly, who could even think about coffee after seeing EMTs rolling in?- and counted down his til as fast as he could, eyes flicking between the clock and the door. Yeah, he and Dean weren’t particularly close, but he wasn’t going to just keep working like nothing had happen. He’d fucking known something was up with Dean when the guy showed up, why hadn’t he called someone then? Stupid, Rollins, stupid.

He slammed the till shut and went to grab his jacket, groping for his keys and- his phone was still in the bathroom. And shit, he was going to have to explain the mess in there to Paul. He gripped the edge of the counter with a groan. There was no way he could explain Dean overdosing- “Paul!”

“Alright, you’re in such a friggin rush, Seth, you’d better get going.” His manager shrugged off his jacket, his bald head sweating in the glare of the overhead lights and Seth was actually glad to see him, grumpy or not.

“Right, look, my buddy, uh… he sort of-” Seth swallowed thickly. “Sort of had an… issue, in the bathroom.”

“Wait, he was here?”

“Right, he stopped in for a minute and uh… kind of passed out. That’s why I called 911.”

Paul huffed at him. “So there’s a big mess I have to clean up, right?”

“...kinda. I gotta go in and grab my phone, but the mirror sort of, uh, got smashed.”

“What the hell was your friend doing, having a seizure?”

“Something like that, yeah. Look, I’ll pay for it or whatever, I just need to-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Paul waved a chubby hand at him. “Don’t worry about it right now, just go.”

“Sure. Thanks Paul, I owe you for this,” Seth called back over his shoulder. He ducked into the bathroom to scoop up his phone, his eyes lingering on Jeremy’s crushed remnants. He grabbed a piece of paper towel and did his best to pick up as many of the crumbs as he could, folding them up in the paper and slipping them into his pocket. If nothing else, he could do that much for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I have to blame my buddy Cooper for convincing me to put the line "but the cake did not explode" into this, as it's a stupid in-joke.
> 
> And I completely bullshitted the ten-code for Roman's EMS call, because did you know every state apparently has different ten-codes and I don't want to set this anywhere specific, so...
> 
> ROMAN KILLED JEREMY! But don't worry. Dean's fish-friend will be avenged!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth and Roman get to know each other a little more.
> 
> Dean learns of the demise of his fish friend.

Seth stepped through the doors and into chaos. Craning above the hurrying nurses, groaning patients and ignoring the occasional retching sound, the only person he recognized was the huge EMT who had taken Dean away, leaning against a column and scribbling on a clipboard.

Seth made his way over to him, pushing strands of blond hair back behind his ear. “Um, hi? Hello, you brought my friend in earlier?”

“Is that a question or a statement?” the EMT rumbled. Seth glanced at his name tag. Reigns. Very helpful.

“Er… I’m not sure. Mr… Reigns?” He nodded. “Right, I’m just wondering if you can tell me about Dean. Is… is he okay?”

“He didn’t die,” Roman replied, signing the bottom of the clipboard and pocketing his pen. “Not really allowed to say much, though. Laws and all.”

Seth bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah, I understand. But hey, didn’t die, that’s pretty good news.”

Roman lifted one massive shoulder in a shrug. “Didn’t die on the way,” he corrected. “That’s really all I can do. Keep em alive in the bus, turn em over to the docs.”

Seth scrubbed a hand over his eyes and slumped against the same column as Roman. “I don’t suppose you can tell me where he is?”

Roman jerked his chin toward the curtained off ER bays and Seth nodded. “Right. I’ll uh, I’ll ask the nurses.”

“Sorry man, I wish I could help you out more. But you guys have the best coffee in the city.”

“Well, next time you come in, I’m buying,”Seth answered. “You did save my buddy’s life.”

“That’s only worth one coffee?” Roman called back, and Seth barked out a strangled laugh.

“All right, for a month? Show up after four, it’s on me.” Seth turned to the nurse at the triage station. “Can you tell me where Dean Ambrose is?”

“Are you family?”

“Uh, no. I’m a friend.”

“I’m sorry, we can’t let you back if you’re not family, not without his consent. But if you’d like to have a seat in the waiting room, we’ll send someone out when he wakes up.”

Seth slouched away, depressed, to find a seat on one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs, folding his long legs up underneath him and nibbling at a hangnail and wondering if maybe he should have claimed to be Dean’s brother or something, although they looked nothing alike.

He looked up as something warm and sloshy tapped his shoulder, and saw Godzillamedic standing over him, holding out a styrofoam cup. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem. You seemed pretty shaken up.” Roman sat down next to him, his own cup of coffee in hand. “S’not as good as the coffee you guys make.”

“Yeah, folks seem to like our coffee. And yeah, I’m kinda shook up. Not every day your friend overdoses on… I dunno, whatever it is he takes. You’re probably used to it.”

“I see overdoses every day,” Roman agreed. “My name’s Roman, by the way.” He offered his hand.

“Seth.” He shook Roman’s hand and leaned back into the chair. “And you met Dean. Well, not met, but-”

“Nah, I’ve met him.”

“Oh?”

“Runs around town all damn night, yeah, I’ve met him. Nearly ran him over once, actually. Never knew his name, but I figured one of us would wind up getting called out to bring him in at some point. I’ve brought in a few of his, uh, acquaintances.”

“He’s a troublemaker,” Seth agreed. “I’ve sort of gotten used to it, though.” He tucked loose hair back behind his ears, wishing he had an elastic. 

“You guys been friends long? You, uh, don’t really look like the kind of guy who’d be tight with a guy like him.”

“Not really. I mean, a couple of months ago, I was chasing him away from the front of the coffeeshop, and then he wandered in one night looking for coffee. We sort of morphed into friends. I’m still not really sure how it happened.” Seth bit at a clump of hair, trying to ignore the litany of thoughts tumbling through his head about how maybe they were friends but maybe he wanted more, but wasn't sure if Dean would want more, if Dean was even _into_ guys, and settling for wondering why this guy even cared about his relationship with Dean. “You usually hang around to see how your patients do?”

“Not really, but-” Roman shrugged. “I dunno. You looked like you could use someone to talk to. And uh-” Seth gestured for him to go on, and Roman shook his head. “Who is Jeremy?”

“Jeremy?”

“You said I killed Jeremy, back at the coffeeshop.”

“Oh. Right, yeah. I guess I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Jeremy is a cracker. Or, he was.”

“...a cracker.”

Seth dug into his pocket and pulled out the folded paper towel, balancing his coffee on one knee while carefully unwrapping Jeremy’s shroud. “He was a goldfish cracker. I dunno, Dean carried him around in one of those plastic bubbles you get from those quarter machines. He called it his buddy.” Seth held out the small pile of orange crumbs for Roman to see.

“I… killed a cracker.” Roman was still stuck on the fact that he’d apparently murdered snack food. “I eat those all the damn time.”

Seth laughed. “Actually, it’s weird, I haven’t eaten goldfish crackers since I met Dean. And Jeremy.” He refolded the paper towel and put it back in his pocket. “I used to really like them, but… I dunno, I just imagine telling Dean that, and wondering how he’d react.”

“Who befriends a goldfish cracker.” Roman’s lips were a thin line, his brows knitted in confusion. 

“Dean is… Dean’s different. He’s gonna be pretty crushed, though. I mean, to us it’s a cracker. To him, it’s his buddy.”

Roman sat up straighter. “Oh god, please don’t tell him _I_ killed the cracker. I’d get home from work and he’d be under my damn bed or something. Guy’s crazy.”

Seth frowned. “He’s not _crazy_. I mean, not… okay, yeah, I guess he is a little. But he’s also pretty okay, I mean, I don’t mind talking to him.” Or looking at him, Seth thought, although he thought he’d keep that tidbit to himself. Roman didn’t need to know he had a thing for the homeless junkie with the snack cracker pal, after all. “I just want him to be okay.”

“I get that. You know, you could get him a new cracker.”

“I dunno how he’d feel about that. I mean, would it be right to just… replace it?”

“You know him better than I do,” Roman replied, getting to his feet. “I gotta head out, but I’ll drop by the coffeeshop another time, you can let me know how it plays out.”

“Oh, for sure. While you drink your free coffee.” Seth gave him a tiny smile. Roman laughed.

“Right. Nice meeting you, Seth.”

“Nice meeting you too. And thanks, again.” Seth gave Roman a little wave, and resumed staring at his own knees when the EMT was gone. He wondered if he should replace Jeremy. Would Dean know? Would he be pissed, think Seth was trying to put one over on him? Maybe he should tell him, and then- offer? A new goldfish cracker to him? Maybe Dean would rather have a Swedish fish or a gummi bear or something, though. Maybe he could just list off animal shaped foods until Dean picked one.

Assuming Dean was even, well, still Dean. How long had he been unconscious in there? Seth didn’t know much first aid, what if there was something he could have done? _I could have fucking asked him what was wrong when he came in, too. I could have not let him go off alone when I knew something was wrong._ Seth pressed his forehead into his knees with a groan. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. One text message. He thumbed the screen and Paul’s number popped up- **Why is there a half-frosted cake in the kitchen?**

 _Oh. Right._ **I had a reason, but it’s not important. You can just toss it.** Seth sighed and stuck his phone back into his pocket with a sigh

-^-

Seth was debating asking to borrow a pen so he could play tic-tac-toe on the leg of his jeans when Dean woke up. Not, of course, that he realized it was Dean, at first. He was slumped in the blue plastic chair, his ass going numb, when he slowly became aware of a ruckus going on in one of the ER bays. He sat up, trying futilely to see over the heads of scurrying nurses and a couple of security guards. There was a hell of a lot of yelling going on back there- he heard a nurse calling something about an IV torn out, and then-” _Jeremy_!”

Ah. Dean was awake. Seth got to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his limbs before hurrying over to the triage desk, leaning over it and trying to peer into the curtained off area the hoarse screaming seemed to be emanating from. Stretching onto his tiptoes, Seth called loudly, “Dean?”

The shouting ceased for a moment, then resumed, this time including Seth’s name. A harried looking nurse came up to the desk, and Seth looked down at him. “Sounds like my friend woke up. Can I see him now? I mean, the other nurse said he had to give consent, I don’t know if screaming my name counts, though.”

“I’m assuming you’re either Seth or Jeremy,” the nurse sighed. 

“I’m Seth.” He didn’t add that he had Jeremy in his pocket- they were having enough issues with Dean, he didn’t need to add to the confusion. “Look, I don’t know what he’s doing back there, but I can guess, and I might be able to help calm him down.”

“ _Get off me! I wanna see Seth!_ ”

“See?” Seth gestured. “He just said he wants to see me.” 

“They’re restraining him, right now. I don’t think it’s a good idea-”

Seth smashed down a flare of concern at the words “restraining him” and pressed on. “Dude, come on. If you woke up in a hospital, wouldn’t you want your best friend there? Maybe you wouldn’t need to be restrained,” he insisted. 

“I wouldn’t rip out my IV, either,” the nurse replied, but he was giving in. “All right, let me double-check his status. Wait here.”

Where the hell the guy thought he was going to go, Seth had no idea, but he waited regardless, fidgeting, his hands in his pockets. The nurse appeared back through the curtains a couple of minutes later and waved him forward. He stepped through the curtain to see Dean strapped down in four-point restraints, his limbs twitching and his tongue lapping out of his mouth as he glared at the ceiling, sweat beading on his temples. He had an IV stuck in his forehead, which Seth didn’t even know was _possible_.

He stopped dead and looked at the nearest nurse. “The, uh, IV… why… is it in his head?”

“That was the only place we could find a vein while he was thrashing around,” she replied, as if it were a perfectly normal thing, for a grown man to be strapped down with an IV sticking out of his forehead, like some kind of unicorn of shame.

“Right. Can uh… can I talk to him? Alone?” He stepped forward and sat down in yet another hard plastic chair, watching Dean’s eyes flicker to him, then back to the ceiling, then back to him, the darting around wildly. Seth reached out a hand, slowly, settling it gently on Dean’s bare arm. “Hey.”

“What the fuck is this, man? Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck is Jeremy? What. Happened?”

“I, uh-” Seth scratched awkwardly at his forehead with his free hand. “I think you overdosed, man. You passed out in the bathroom back at work.”

Dean nodded, the IV wobbling, and Seth fought back an urge to laugh. This was not a laughing situation. “D’you remember anything?”

“Remember coming in to the shop. Seeing you. I like seeing you, Seth.”

“I, uh… I like seeing you too, Dean. Just not like this.” Seth squeezed Dean’s forearm gently. “You scared the shit out of me, man. I thought you were dead.”

“I wish I were dead,” Dean said absently.  His wrists worked inside the padded cuffs, and Seth reached out, spontaneously resting his hand on Dean’s upward-facing palm. Those blue eyes met his brown ones, and he gave Dean a long, searching look.

“I don’t.”

Dean snorted, but he didn’t twist his hand away. Didn’t even move it, in fact. “You’re the only one.”

“Maybe. But at least you know there is one.” 

Silence stretched between them, broken by the occasional noise from outside their curtained off world, the clack of stretchers, the PA system crackling to life from time to time. Seth finally cleared his throat, as Dean spoke suddenly. “Where’s my fish, Seth? Where’s my buddy?”

Seth coughed, caught off guard for a moment. “Dean-”

“ _Where_?”

“He… he got smushed.” Seth bit his lip, and met Dean’s wide blue eyes. Dean’s tongue worked frantically at the corner of his mouth, his fingers clutching helplessly at Seth’s as his processed the information.

“What.”

“He got stepped on, when… when they came in to help you.” Seth worked his left hand around, and drew the packet out of his pocket. “I picked up the… I picked up what was left.”

Dean’s eyes focused on the paper towel resting on Seth’s open palm for a moment, before he closed his eyes with a pained grimace and turned his head away. Seth felt his gut clench as Dean’s voice, low and hoarse, said softly,”He was my buddy.”

“I know.” Maybe Seth didn’t completely get it- okay, he didn't get it at all- but he understood that the cracker had been important to Dean, even if he didn’t know _why_. “I’m sorry.”

He looked down at the floor when he heard a soft sniffle, wishing he could be literally anyplace else. He had an idea that Dean wouldn’t easily forgive whoever saw him in this position, although the fingers holding his still hadn’t let go. They were gripping tighter, if anything. He glanced back up to see watery blue eyes gazing at him and he leaned in- suicidally, perhaps, but what the hell, the man was in restraints, he had time to run- to brush a quick, barely-there kiss to Dean’s forehead, right above his medically-applied unicorn horn. 

"You've got me though." He directed this to the IV pole, frightened by his own audacity, wondering why the hell he'd developed this habit of blurting out whatever shit crossed his mind when he was around Dean. After several long seconds, he chanced a look at Dean, expecting to see fury on the face of this eccentric maniac he'd learned to care for. 

But Dean was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this isn't the last chapter, even though I might have left it on a tiny cliffhanger.
> 
> Also, it is apparently totally possible to have an IV in your forehead- that entire scene, including the "unicorn of shame" bit, came directly from something a twitter-friend witnessed in his ER just last night xD
> 
> There is so much talk of that damn goldfish cracker in this chapter, I don't even know, man.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I accidentally a whole nother chapter, because it just came pouring out of me.
> 
> That's okay though. Not complaining. 
> 
> Aaaand I think maybe the ship has officially sailed?
> 
> This chapter does contain some references to crystal meth withdrawal (ten points to your Hogwarts house if you guessed that's what Dean was using).

The chimes over the door jangled, and Seth quickly scribbled down **animal crackers, gummi bears, teddy grahams** before looking up to greet his customer. 

His discarded pen hit the counter and rolled from the edge, bouncing off the toe of his sneaker and landing under the counter as he ducked around the end, a wide grin on his face. “Dean! They let you loose already?”

Dean scuffled his boots over the mat by the door, rubbing at the back of his neck ruefully. He looked cleaner than Seth had ever seen him, and there was a bandage taped to his forehead, Seth assumed in lieu of the unicorn horn of shame. “Yeah. I guess they figured I was stable, and they weren’t going to get any cash out of someone like me.” 

Seth halted in front of him, suddenly very unsure. He hadn’t seen Dean in a few days, and the last time, he’d sort of tipped his emotional hand. “Well… I mean, I’m glad to see you.”

“‘m glad to see you too,” Dean admitted. Seth suspected that the other man was feeling just as awkward as he was, and- surprisingly for Dean- not covering it up with bravado. Seth cleared his throat.

“You, uh… you want a coffee? I was just making a list, we’re not busy…”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean slid onto a stool and reached for the paper Seth had been scribbling on. “List of what?”

“Um, well, you know, since… since Jeremy, uh… left us, I was thinking maybe you’d like a new friend. I wasn’t sure if you’d want another goldfish, so I was trying to think of as many animal-shaped foods as I could. Here, look-” Seth set the coffeepot he was holding down and reached under the counter. “I even got a new bubble and everything.” He held the capsule out to Dean, who took it, rolling it between his palms with an unreadable expression. Seth swallowed. “I hope that’s okay, I mean- I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Dean set the plastic bubble down on the counter and stared at it before moving his eyes to Seth. “You got me a new bubble… for a new buddy?”

“Uh, yes?” Seth set a mug of black coffee down in front of Dean, along with his favourite glazed chocolate doughnut. Dean’s gaze was now fixed on the counter, his fingers toying with the frayed edge of his worn grey hoodie. Seth was seriously wondering if maybe he’d overstepped- perhaps it was too soon after Jeremy’s demise? Was Dean pissed? Hurt? 

And then Dean’s hand was creeping slowly over the counter, and Seth turned his over without thinking about it, so that Dean’s callused palm pressed against his own. “You okay with that?”

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “Nobody ever gave that much of a shit about me before. Not enough to go out and-” He cleared his throat, his voice pitching deeper, more raspy. “I mean, you actually made a _list_ , in case I didn’t want a fish.”

Oh, so that’s what it was. Seth reached out and pushed a wayward curl out of Dean’s downcast eyes. “Hey, man. It’s okay. I mean… okay, maybe other people haven’t given a shit, but I do. _I do_.”

“Why?” Dean fidgeted with the napkin under his doughnut. “I don’t get it, why would you waste your time on worthless trash like me?”

“Maybe because I don’t think you’re worthless trash.” Seth leaned on the counter, his fingers brushing over the plastic capsule Dean had set down. It had a green cap- the last one had been blue, Seth recalled, without even wondering when the hell he’d filed that away. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You clean now? Like-” Seth wished Dean would just _look_ at him. “Am I gonna have to find you dead in the bathroom, like, ever, or?”

“I dunno.” Dean shrugged. “I mean… I’ve never wound up in hospital before.”

“Maybe this is your wakeup call. Universe sending you a message or some shit like that.”

“Maybe,” Dean agreed, picking bits out of his doughnut. “I don’t know, I haven’t… since I got out yesterday. Surprised, honestly. Never gone this long before. Crashed real hard in the hospital,” he admitted. “Like… I went fucking nuts. You heard me in the ER?” Seth nodded. “Worse than that. I’m tired as shit, fuckin hungry, it’s weird. Sweating like crazy.” He did look exhausted, Seth noted.Dean shook his head. “Meant to come by last night, but I kinda got sidetracked. I thought a tree was following me.” He let out a bitter laugh. “If I wasn’t crazy before-”

“Come home with me.”

“What?” Dean stared at him, his fingers paused momentarily above the litter of chocolate crumbs. Seth stared back, because _where the fuck did that even come from?!_ He barely even knew Dean, and okay, he had kind of kissed him and they were technically still engaged in what could only be described as hand-holding and he was definitely intending to buy him a new snack friend, but-

He licked his lips, although his mouth had become a desert all of a sudden. “You heard me. I want you to get clean. I want to help you.”

Dean’s eyes were going all shadowed and suspicious and Seth quickly curled his fingers around Dean’s. He was already in over his head, time to sink or swim. “I mean it, I’m not bullshitting you, and I don’t have any hidden motives, I swear. I just… I don’t know, man, I don’t know what it is, or why it is, but I care about you, and I know, and you know, if you hit those streets again-” Seth nodded toward the door. “-you’re gonna be back using again. Am I right, or not?”

Dean scowled, but nodded. It was true. “You can’t get clean out there. Next time, you could die. I don’t-” Seth took a breath. “I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. I’ve kinda got used to you dropping in unannounced to help me kill time.

 _And I go a little stupid over you_ , he thought. “Even if you bitch about _everything_ and tell me I’m wrong constantly.”

“Not my fault you _are_  wrong constantly,” Dean muttered, but he was smiling, a little. Seth chuckled. He was going to be doing a lot of reading, he guessed, if he was going to- oh _God_ , had he really just offered to help Dean through withdrawal? 

“What, uh… what were you even on, by the way? I never actually knew.”

“Meth,” Dean admitted, with a shrug. He was sure doing a number on that doughnut, Seth thought. He drew the napkin back slightly, and Dean put his hand down, sighing shakily. “You sure you’re gonna be okay? I mean, I can be… difficult.”

“At the best of times,” Seth agreed, as the door chimes rang out. He squeezed Dean’s fingers and moved away to serve the women who had just walked in.

Dean listened to his chatter absently, glaring out the corner of his eyes at the two dark-haired white women that had drawn Seth away, his fingers going back to tearing the doughnut into crumbs. He realized that everything Seth was saying was true, that he _should_ get clean, that next time, he really might die, but-

Dean didn’t like himself. He didn’t like living inside his own head, fighting the shadows that lurked there, the memories, the voices, everything that was dark and bad and painful. That’s why he’d turned to the crystal. As soon as that smoke curled into his lungs, shot into his bloodstream, that shit all went away, and he was free, he was floating. He was as close to happy as he figured someone like him was allowed to be.

But then he’d met Seth. He liked Seth. He felt okay with Seth. Not enough to willingly get back inside his own head, not at first, but maybe now-

Maybe.

Maybe the universe was telling him something, although Dean had never believed that new-age horoscope-y there-is-a-plan-for-everyone shit. 

He wished he had Jeremy. Jeremy knew what it was like inside Dean’s head, because Jeremy had _come_ from Dean’s head. Not physically, of course, but his personality- Dean reached out and closed his fingers around the empty plastic capsule Seth had presented him with.

Yes.

Seth came bustling back, wiping his hands on his apron, and leaned on the counter again. Wayward strands of brown and blond hair were escaping the bun he had attempted to contain them in, and Dean had to stop himself from reaching out to tuck them behind those adorable ears.

“Sorry about that,” Seth said. “Trouble with you only coming to see me at work.”

“Well, it’s not like I know where you live,” Dean reminded him. Seth nodded, biting his lip. Dean wondered if he was already having regrets.

“I guess you will now, huh?”

“If you still want me. There, I mean. You don’t have to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. You’re my… you’re my friend, Dean. I want to help you. If you want to let me.”

“Christ, this sounds like a fuckin Lifetime movie,” Dean grumped, a spark of his old self showing through. “Next thing you know, we’ll be in the middle of a goddamn montage where you help me realize myself and we live happily ever after, riding horses on a beach or some shit.”

Seth laughed. “Well, I’ve never been on a horse in my life, so let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Dean smirked. “Me neither. Never been to a beach either.”

“You’ve never been to a _beach_?” Seth asked, incredulous. “We’ll have to remember to fix that. Somewhere in the middle of the montage, I’m thinking.”

“Right after the arts and crafts.”

Seth had a brief mental image of Dean at his kitchen table, gluing macaroni and glitter onto a paper plate, and then he lost it completely, hunching over behind the counter and absolutely howling with laughter. Dean’s brow furrowed a little, but he didn’t say anything, just waited for Seth to resurface.

“I’m sorry, I just-” Seth covered his mouth as a snort burst out of him. “Oh my god, I never do that, I swear-”

“Uh huh.” Dean was doing that crooked smile again; Seth snorted when he laughed, and if that wasn’t the cutest fucking thing he’d ever heard…

“No, I’m serious!” Another snort issued forth, and Seth felt his ears start to burn. “I just had a stupid mental image okay?”

“Oh yeah, sure, I get it. No worries, just take your time.” Dean took a long swig of his coffee, smirking into his cup as Seth tried to compose himself.

“I swear, I don’t snort when I laugh,” Seth insisted, once he’d got himself back under control. Dean didn’t dignify that with an answer, just lifted his eyebrows, and Seth gave up. “Whatever. You want to swing by after I close, and I’ll take you home, or you figuring on occupying that stool for three more hours?”

Dean shrugged. “Haven’t decided. What would you like me to do? I’mma point out that it happens to be snowing right now, before you make that decision.”

“Are you seriously guilting me into letting you stay?”

“You don’t want my company?” Two months ago, that would have worried Seth, but now he recognized the playful tone.

“Of course I do,” he said softly. “You can hang here, it’s cool. I, uh… I actually wanted to ask you what the deal was on Sunday.”

“Whatcha mean? There was no deal.”

Seth tapped the counter, knowing he was treading dangerous ground here. “You know there was. I’ve seen you high before, Dean, and Sunday… you were completely fucking _gone_ , man. Way more’n normal.”

Dean sighed, shrugged, twiddled his fingers on the handle of his mug, and finally, albeit to the counter, muttered,”Just a little birthday celebration.”

“I figured maybe that’s what it was. Hell of a way to celebrate, though.”

Dean glared at him. “Look, you don’t know my fuckin life, okay?”

“I don’t need to know,” Seth interrupted. “I’m not going to ask. I’m sure you had your reasons, and you don’t-” he took a breath. “You don’t ever have to tell me anything you’re not ready to, okay? I mean, that’s not gonna stop me from telling you all about myself, because-”

“Because you can never shut the fuck up,” Dean finished. “You love to talk, you social butterfly motherfucker.” His tone was light again, teasing, and Seth was, again, reminded of just how fucking _erratic_ Dean’s moods were. He flashed from teasing to enraged to happy to morose faster than a lightning flash, and Seth wondered just what exactly he’d been thinking when he’d asked Dean to come home with him. 

“Right. So, um, have you thought about what sort of new buddy you might like?”

Dean shrugged, and Seth hurried on. “I mean, if you’re ready. If you still need time, that’s okay too.” Seth didn’t even blink at the fact that he was explaining that it was okay to grieve for a _cracker_ , which had to be some kind of evidence that his life had taken a decided turn for the weird since he’d met Dean Ambrose.

“Nah, it’s not- I dunno, I mean, I miss him. That probably sounds stupid as shit, but whatever. He was my buddy.” Dean sighed, and Seth couldn’t resist. He reached out and ran his fingers over the shorter hair by Dean’s ear, lightly. 

“I understand. It’s hard to lose a friend.”

“Better though, since I kinda got a new one.” Dean was addressing the napkin holder, but Seth knew what he meant. This was hard for him, too, and he knew by now that he was a hell of a lot more open about feelings than Dean. 

“That you do.” Although how many friends held hands and stroked each others’ hair- and that’s exactly what he’d been doing, he had no illusions about that- Seth didn’t know. But friendship was as a good a term for their…. whatever it was, as any.

“I might like another goldfish, though. Carry on the legacy, and all,” Dean ventured.

“Jeremy the Second?”

“Fourth,” Dean corrected. “I accidentally lost Jeremy the first- still feel bad about that- and Jeremy the second got eaten. By a Rottweiler.”

“A Rottweiler.” Of course, eaten by a Rottweiler, that made perfect sense because _Dean_. “Not, uh, not your Rottweiler? Just because I have one dog at home, and the lease is very specific-”

“Nah, a guy I used to know. Big doofy dog, I liked him a lot. You got a dog? What kind?” Dean noticeably brightened at that, and Seth mentally noted that Dean was, apparently, a dog person. 

“He’s a Yorkshire terrier. His name’s Kevin.”

“Oh, a little sissy dog. That’s cool.”

“He is not a sissy dog,” Seth protested. Dean grinned.

“Nah, not if he’s a terrier. They’re tough little bastards.”

“I’m glad you appreciate that,” Seth grumped, abandoning Dean again as more customers came in. He was _so_ tired of people twitting him about his dog. He thumped down the creamer and started steaming milk. Yorkies were tough, smart, travel-sized dogs, damn it. 

“I appreciate dogs,” Dean allowed when Seth came back, stretching his long legs. “Never had one myself, but I like em. S’long’s they don’t eat my fishes.”

“He won’t eat your fish. Although I don’t have any at home; we’ll have to stop at the store. Is… uh, is there any particular criteria for locating a Jeremy?”

“Just find one that feels right,” Dean replied. “I always know.”

-^-

“I thought you said you always knew,” Seth grumbled, pawing to the very back of the shelf and praying a store associate didn’t walk by and wonder what the fuck these two guys were doing with about sixty bags of goldfish crackers surrounding them. Dean was sitting in the midst of a- flock? Pack? A school, Seth decided. Fish schooled. A school of cracker packages, apparently communing with each one of them, pressing them to his forehead one by one and concentrating. 

Seth should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as just grabbing the first bag off the shelf. “You know we have to put all these things _back_ , right?”

“Mhm.” Dean squinted at the bag in his hand, then tossed it back to Seth. “Nope. Next!”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course. You don’t like makin new friends?” Dean lobbed two more bags at him, and Seth sighed, resigning himself to the role of stockboy. 

“Wait. Wait!” Dean held up a bag triumphantly. “This one! This bag’s got my new buddy, I can feel it.”

Seth wondered if he actually _could_ feel it, and instantly decided that it didn’t matter. Dean said he felt it, that was good enough for him. “Great, now let’s put all of these back. Dean, don’t stuff that in your pocket, they’ll think you’re stealing.” 

Dean gave him the most bewildered look and Seth sighed. “No, I am actually gonna pay for your fish. Is that how you got the others? Just took em?”

Dean nodded, not even looking a little ashamed, and Seth guessed that Dean probably stole most of the things he’d ever owned. “Well, not this time. C’mon, help me out here. You’re the one who had to go through forty dozen packages.”

“It was only like twenty dozen, come on now.” But Dean started handing him up packaged from his spot on the floor willingly enough.

-^-

“Alright, home sweet home,” Seth said, thumping back the deadbolt and swinging the door of his apartment open. “Just gonna let the dog out of the bedroom, put him outside,” he told Dean, who was edging slowly into the darkened apartment, clutching his bag of goldfish crackers to his belly.

“You have a yard?”

“More like a shitty little strip of grass, but I blocked it off so Kev can’t get loose. One convenient thing about living on the ground floor.” Seth shrugged and disappeared round the corner to be met by a flurry of welcome home barks, and then a little brown dog was hurtling at Dean, hopping up against his leg and wrinkling his muzzle in greeting.

Dean carefully pushed the little being away with his foot, still uneasy about being in a space that was so unabashedly _Seth’s_. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, but then, Dean never expected much. There was a galley kitchen that Dean couldn’t really see into, and in the living room seemed to consist of randomly assembled furniture- a plain blue couch, a ridiculously overstuffed and very purple armchair, an elaborate weight bench in the corner, a small bookshelf, an utterly enormous television, and a crappy Formica-topped table with three mismatched chairs and a desktop computer on top- and posters for bands Dean had never heard of. Seth turned from closing the back door and gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, there you go. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s great,” was all Dean could think of to say. And it was, particularly compared to where he spent most of his time. Seth crossed the room again, reaching behind Dean to shut the door before stuffing his hands into his pockets, suddenly flustered.

“It’s uh… yeah, I like it.” He rocked back on his heels, trying to think of literally anything to say. “Um, you can put your fish in the kitchen, if you want. Light’s over here.” Seth flipped it on, hurriedly brushing some leftover toast crumbs into the sink. “The uh, the bathroom’s down the hall there, across from my room. I should probably go, uh, grab you some sheets and stuff. You’ll have to sleep on the couch, sorry, I only have the one room.”

And Seth was definitely, certainly not going to let Dean share his bed. At least not yet. His stomach gave a squirmy little jump at the idea, and he scuttled off down the hall to keep Dean from seeing how his face was reddening.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Dean called after him, setting his packet of crackers down and looking around. Pretty basic kitchen, he thought, stove, fridge, toaster, blender, microwave. No coffee machine, though. He guessed Seth probably got enough coffee at work. He ran his fingers over a couple of deep grooves in the surface of Seth’s counter, trying not to feel too out of place.

“This blanket probably smells like dog, I swear he breaks into the closet when I’m gone and sleeps on _everything_.” Seth’s voice came from the living room, and Dean went out to see him unfolding sheets. He reached out and caught one end, helping Seth tuck it down into the couch cushions. They made up the couch without talking, their hands brushing occasionally. Seth plopped a pillow down and straightened up. “There. Dean’s bed, all made up and everything.”

Dean gave him a tiny smile. “I’ll try not to fuck it up. And I won’t steal your shit.”

That had honestly not occurred to Seth until just now, but he nodded agreement. “Don’t have much worth stealing anyway. TV, blu ray player, couple game consoles.” _And now he has an inventory, dumbass, just in case he wanted to steal your shit_ , Seth told himself. He raked his hair out of his eyes. _Fuck it_. “Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean lifted his eyes from the carpet, and Seth took a huge breath.

“Can I kiss you?” It was what he’d been wanting to say all day, hell, for weeks now, and yeah, it was too soon, Dean had never even been in his apartment before, and he was still recovering from his overdose, but fuck Seth wanted to kiss him

Dean looked at him for an eternity, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah. You can.”

Seth’s breath came out in a whoosh. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” He stepped closer, tentative, and slid his hands onto Dean’s hips, one trailing up his back, and pulled him close. Dean tilted his head slightly as their mouths came together, his hands joining at the small of Seth’s back, and then he was free, he was floating, and it was okay. 

Seth’s lips were soft, his beard scratchy, and Dean let out an involuntary little whine as he parted his own to let Seth’s tongue in, just a little. Just enough. Then Seth was pulling back, his breath puffing against Dean’s face, and he was smiling, so it was okay, kissing was alright, and Dean bit his lip, darting a glance at Seth through his eyelashes.

Maybe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this chapter contains a brief incident of self-harm, and a couple of references to Dean's past.
> 
> There is also a lot of bonding and introspective blah. It doesn't really move the plot along, but it shuffles the relationship forward, so I suppose it accomplished something.

Dean was gone when Seth got home. 

He’d left behind an unlocked door, a litter of rejected goldfish crackers, and the sheets on Seth’s couch, soaked in what Seth hoped was sweat. He had not left behind Kevin.

It took Seth several moments after setting down the bags he carried to notice that his apartment was suspiciously absent of the usual welcome home barking. “Kevin?” He went down the hall to the bedroom, checked the bathroom, stuck his head out the backdoor, but the dog was nowhere to be found. Seth knew Kevin had been secured in his room when he’d left to work the early shift- had Dean let him loose, or taken him? Had he _eaten_ him?! 

Okay, now that was just absurd. Dean had no reason to eat his dog, after all. Did people even eat dogs? Kevin was small, there wouldn’t even been that much meat there.

Seth decided to go over the house once more figuring maybe Dean had left a note. 

Of course he had not. Seth’s note from that morning- **Sorry, got called in for the morning shift. I’ll see you when I get home around 3. -S** was still stuck to the fridge- Seth had figured that’d be where Dean would head first- but nothing from Dean to indicate where he’d gone, or, more importantly, _what the fuck he’d done with Seth’s dog._

Seth leaned against the counter, his head bowed, knuckles clenched over the edge. Debating whether to go out looking for Dean, even though he had not the first fucking clue as to where Dean went when he wasn’t around Seth, or to starting calling shelters to see if Kevin had been dropped off.

He was just flipping through his phone’s camera roll to find pictures of Kevin- posters seemed like a good start- when he heard the doorknob rattle. He shot out of the kitchen and whipped the door open with enough force to bounce it off the wall and stared out at Dean, who was standing there with a battered, much-duct-taped green backpack over one shoulder, Kevin tucked securely into the denim jacket Dean was wearing over his usual gray hoodie. “You _took_ my dog?”

Dean stood there, making no move to come inside, an inscrutable expression on his face. Wordlessly, he unbuttoned his jacket and held out the tiny dog. Seth gathered his little friend into his arms, pressing his face into the furry back as he stepped back, nodding Dean into the apartment. “Sorry, I just… I worried, when you were both gone.”

Dean shrugged, slipping his backpack off his shoulder and setting it down near the couch. “Went to get my shit. Figured I might as well take him along, and then he got tired, so I just stuck him in my coat. Good thing you don’t have a Doberman.”

Seth put Kevin down and straightened up, sticking his hands into his back pockets, slightly embarrassed at his overreaction- had he really thought Dean might have eaten the dog?- and looked down at Dean’s bag. “Picked up your stuff? I didn’t know you had stuff.”

Dean shrugged. “Not much stuff.” He sat down in front of the couch and pulled the bag over by one badly fraying strap, unzipping it and starting to unpack the contents. Seth very deliberately did not allow himself to think about where Dean’s “stuff” had been, or come from, just sat down next to him and watched Dean methodically laying out his belongings on the floor in front of him.. There wasn’t much. A baseball cap, three pairs of socks, two pairs of boxer-briefs and two tank tops rolled up inside a black T-shirt, an ancient razor, six feathers, a toothbrush of dubious hygiene- yet oddly, no toothpaste- a bar of soap clearly swiped from a hotel, several paperclips, a worn notebook, two mechanical pencils, a bungee cord, several nails, a small, shiny rock, two pens, a knife, five packages of gum, three batteries, an ancient Sony Walkman- Seth hadn’t seen one of _those_ in over a decade, and shit, Dean had a half-dozen cassettes too- an empty spool of thread, two dog biscuits, half a roll of duct tape, a pepper grinder- _what_ \- and, possibly the most bizarre, seven paperback novels in various states of decay. Leaning closer, Seth saw that they were The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and a pair of Stephen King novels, Misery, and The Shining. 

Dean sat back and gestured expansively. “My stuff.”

“This… is everything you own?” Seth felt suddenly very ashamed for ever judging Dean, and simultaneously embarrassed about everything _he_ owned.

“I travel light,” was Dean’s only response. He rummaged through the pile like he was taking inventory, then methodically packed it all back into the bag. Seth flicked a goldfish cracker across the carpet and cleared his throat.

“I didn’t realize you had anything. I, uh, stopped at a couple stores on my way home, picked you up some stuff I thought you might need.” He avoided Dean’s eyes as he got up, pretending that he couldn’t hear Dean’s breathing pick up, that he didn’t see his jaw clench. He returned with the bags he’d left in the kitchen and set them down next to Dean, who was scowling at the carpet, his fists clenching and unclenching. Seth sighed- apparently this was exactly the wrong thing for him to have done- and looked over at the other man. “You’re pissed.”

“I don’t need your _fucking pity_ ,” Dean snarled, slapping at the bags. Seth pulled back, moving into a defensive position, and waited. Dean let out an explosive huff and slammed back against the couch, abruptly balling one hand into a fist and striking himself in the forehead, his other hand flat against his chest, moving from side to side. “I don’t need _you_ , and I don’t need your fucking _couch_ , or your stupid fucking sympathy. I don’t need you to buy shit for me because you _feel sorry for me._ ” Dean’s tone was mocking. “I’m not some fucking _stray cat_ who needs a saviour, Seth. I can take care of myself.”

“The way you took care of yourself on your birthday?” Seth asked flatly, because of course he had to aggravate the situation when Dean was already on the verge of exploding. And explode he did, although Seth, thinking about it later that night alone in bed, still wasn’t sure how they’d ended up going from red-faced screaming to Dean breaking down in sobs and Seth, kneeling next to him, trying to offer a hug that turned into another kiss, that wound up with Dean under him in an impromptu make-out session, his hands in Seth’s two-toned long hair, begging for Seth to “ _kiss me, fucking kiss me, please_ ” and finally Dean curled up in his arms, still on the floor in front of the couch, breathing heavily into his shoulder as Seth spilled apologies.

“I’m sorry, okay, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s not pity, I swear, I was just trying to do a good thing-”

“Something is wrong with me. I don’t cry. I _don’t._ ” Dean hadn’t cried in years- not since the last time he’d seen his father, when the cops came to the door, back when he was five- and his voice was hoarse, like he’d been eating rocks. 

Seth rested his chin on those messy brown curls, one arm still around Dean’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Your brain has been through a lot this week, I’d probably cry too.” He could still feel the dampness of Dean’s tears on the shoulder of his T-shirt and cast about for something else to say, something to take Dean’s mind off his embarrassment over daring to show an emotion that wasn’t anger or cynicism. “Uh, you… want to see what I got you?”

Dean snuffled and sat up, swiping at his eyes before he nodded. “Sure. I mean, you went to get it, so, whatever, might as well look.”

Seth leaned over to snag the bags Dean had sent flying, letting his long hair swing into his face to hide his smile. “Just keep in mind that I had no idea what size you wear in anything, so I had to guess. Also I don’t really know what you like to eat, or uh… smell like. Seriously, just a lot of guessing, we can return anything you don’t want, or like, everything, if you prefer that.”

“Just shut up and show me, Seth.” Dean peered over Seth’s shoulder, and Seth legitimately grinned. Dean had plainly gotten over his anger over accepting what he saw as charity, any ambivalence long gone. He was like a kid on Christmas, although Seth imagined that the Christmas’ he remembered were probably very different from the ones Dean did.

“All right, Mr Impatience. Here, why don’t you just look for yourself.” Seth offered the bag he was holding- toiletries, mostly- and Dean took it, hesitant. He wasn’t used to getting gifts, obviously, even if those gifts consisted of deodorant and socks. 

Dean rooted through the bag, making little humming noises of pleasure. “Yes, yes, good, deodorant, yes, toothpaste, yes yes. Conditioner!” He pulled out the bottle and tipped it at Seth with a heartstopping flash of those dimples. “Is this a hint that I need to have my split ends taken care of?”

Seth laughed and started emptying another bag. “Actually, that's my regular conditioner, since I ran out the other day. I didn’t get much in terms of clothes, but I thought maybe you’d like to be able to sleep in something other than your jeans, so-” He pulled out a package of socks, one of boxer-briefs- lucky guess, that, since he’d just picked what landed in the middle in terms of underwear choices- a package of tanktops, a pair of sweatpants. A second bag yielded a half dozen T-shirts and a pair of light cotton sleep pants. “We can get you some jeans another day, but I’ll wash the ones you have.”

Dean hummed in agreement, inspecting the clamshell package containing his new razor. “S’cool. Thanks.”

“No worries. I honestly didn’t do it out of pity-”

“Nah, you’re just one of those stupidly nice people that thinks about this kind of shit.”

Seth barked a laugh and nodded, getting to his feet. “I guess I am. Here, hand me that stuff, I’ll go put it in the bathroom. You can shower if you want, and I’ll wash your clothes.” He gestured to the couch. “These sheets have to go in anyway.”

Dean flushed at that, mumbling another apology that Seth waved away. “The shop was slow today, I did a ton of reading on my phone. Although I might need glasses now. But apparently night sweats are to be expected. Also sleeping-” Dean grunted agreement; he’d slept most of the day.”- and being really damn hungry. So I’m going to order some food, and throw in a load of laundry while you shower. Pizza okay?”

“Sure.” Dean got up, gathering the clothing and toiletries. Considering that Seth had mentioned showering twice in about two minutes, he was guessing that was more than just a hint. He ducked into the bathroom as Seth called after him to leave his clothes outside the door and started the shower. He laid the toiletries out on the counter and sank down on the toilet lid with his arms full of more new clothing than he’d had in years. He buried his face into the pile, glad that he’d turned the shower on, since he was crying _again_ , and seriously, what the fuck was going on, he _did not cry ever_ and now here he was, bawling in the bathroom like a little child. Over _clothing_. 

Although it wasn’t _just_ the clothing. It was the fact that, for the first time in months, he’d had a warm, soft place to sleep. It was the fact that he hadn’t needed to keep his shoes on, or sleep in his coat, or worry about a cop or security guard coming along and rousting him out of wherever he’d bedded down. It was the fact that he’d been able to wake up, sweating and sticky, starving and ravenously thirsty, and he could walk into the kitchen and drink and drink and drink and then eat whatever he found in the fridge and cupboards. No dumpster diving, no leaning over a convenience store sink, no begging for change. It was all thanks to Seth. Seth, who, for no reason, had accepted him as a friend. He’d done nothing to warrant it, obnoxious and erratic as he was, but he’d kept hanging around and Seth had let him in. First, his work life, and now, his home. 

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stood up, stripping and dumping his clothes outside the door as he’d been told. Stepping into the tub, he let out a low groan of pleasure as the water spattered off his back. Seth hadn’t picked up any soap or shampoo or anything, so Dean figured it was okay to use what was in the shower. He grinned a little at the idea of smelling like Seth- that actually turned him on, if he was honest- and soaped himself up with Seth’s body wash, twisting to reach all of his back and letting the grime slide off, sluicing down the drain. He didn’t mind being dirty, to a point, but god it felt so good to be clean. He scrubbed his hair too, and climbed out of the shower after rinsing out the last of Seth’s conditioner- and what grown man had mango-scented conditioner, honestly?- to towel off and get dressed in clothes that didn’t look like they’d stand up and walk away on their own.

~^~

Seth grimaced as he picked up Dean’s clothes, tweezing them between his fingers and carrying them at arm’s length to the laundry basket he’d left on the couch. He knew it wasn’t Dean’s fault, and he didn’t judge him or anything, but goddamn. He wondered if these jeans had been washed since Dean had bought them or found them or however he’d gotten them. He stuffed the sheets into the basket and marched off down the hall to the building’s laundry room, Kevin jogging along behind him.

He leaned against the thrumming machine and rubbed his hands over his face. Well, Dean hadn’t attacked him, although the other reactions he’d had were, if anything, even more unexpected. He’d read up on withdrawal from meth, and yeah, mood swings were definitely a common symptom. He wondered if he could deal with Dean’s moods being more erratic than usual. He wondered if he’d be able to handle the sudden outbursts of tears and rage that he knew were going to come. He wondered if he’d be able to deal with this attraction with Dean staying in the same house- like he'd done such a stellar damn job of that already, kissing him like that earlier, even though he'd told himself firmly that he needed to avoid getting physical with Dean while he was recovering. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but he wasn’t about to turn him out now. Not back onto the streets, not back to his demons; Dean wouldn’t forgive him for that, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

He returned to find Dean standing barefoot at the kitchen sink, in pajama pants and a tank top, brushing his teeth. Doing his level best not to ogle Dean’s ass, Seth leaned against the wall, folding his arms casually over his chest. “Pizza’s on the way. You uh, you know you can do that in the bathroom, yeah?”

Dean spit a long string of foam down the drain and shook his head. “Nah. Mirror.”

“Mirror?”

“Don’t like em.” Dean rinsed his mouth under the tap- Seth swallowed hard as Dean bent over- and shut the water off. “Long story.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,”Seth replied, following Dean back out to the living room and plunking down onto the couch, flipping on the tv. Dean rummaged through his backpack and curled up on the couch next to Seth- close, but not touching- with one of the paperbacks. Misery, Seth thought, from what he could see of the cover. He’d read it, back in junior high, during his Stephen King completionist phase. “You know, I have a few of those. If you want to borrow any.”

“Books?”

Seth gestured to the bookshelf across from the couch. “You’re welcome to read whatever you want. I don’t read much, though.”

Dean hummed and buried his nose back in his novel. “I do.”

“I guessed, but, ah… no offence, you don’t look like much of a reader.”

“No, I probably don’t.” Dean’s tone went flat, and Seth left it alone, not wanting another eruption so soon after the last one. He got up to answer the door when the pizza came- Dean teasing Seth about his choice of “weird vegetables”- and he went down to put the laundry in the dryer, then again to fetch it back to the apartment. Dean fell asleep on his shoulder not long after they finished their pizza- and Seth let him. 

He liked Dean like this, quiet and malleable and not so damn _explosive_. Seth didn’t feel like he needed to be on eggshells when Dean was asleep, his breath puffing warmly against Seth’s neck, his stubble raspy against Seth’s t-shirt. It was nice enough that Seth hated to wake Dean up, and hated even more to leave him on the couch, wrapped up in bedding still warm from the dryer, Kevin curled on his hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Dean's past in this AU, I've been stitching together fact and fiction, basically taking bits and pieces from various promos and shoot interviews he's done, and marrying them to things I've pulled out of my own head, or from my own past experiences. The bit about the cops taking his dad is from either a shoot or a promo, although I'm not sure how old he was but in this, he was five, and he never reconciled with either of his parents.
> 
> Mood swings- including outbursts of rage and tears, night sweats and extreme hunger/thirst and exhaustion are all pretty common when it comes to crystal meth withdrawal. I'm pulling from first-person accounts of people who've recovered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter building Dean and Seth's relationship, Roman and Seth's friendship, and Dean's one-sided antagonism.

“You seriously thought he _ate_ your dog?”

“Well I was slightly panicked. I’m not used to my dog just… not being there when I get home.” Seth refilled Roman’s mug and clattered the pot back onto the burner. “Stop smiling, it’s not _that_ funny.”

“Man, it’s fuckin hilarious. What the hell would make your mind _immediately_ leap to “Oh god, he ate my dog”, honestly?” The rim of the mug did nothing to conceal Roman’s smirk, and Seth rolled his eyes at the massive EMT.

“He picked out a new fish yet?”

“I think so. He hasn’t actually shown it to me yet.”

“He know I, uh… killed, the other one?”

“Nope.” Seth took a bite of his bagel and shook his head. “Told you I wouldn’t tell him.”

Roman looked relieved, and Seth chuckled. The fact that Roman was so worried about Dean finding out about his accidental murder of Jeremy III never ceased to amuse him. “I’m sure he’d forgive you. You saved his life, after all.”

“Mm, the doctors at St Joe’s did that.”

“You kept him alive until you got him there,” Seth countered, and Roman shrugged acquiescence.

“So, how are you doing with the whole, uh, thing where you kissed him?”

Seth leaned against the counter, blowing errant hairs out of his face. “I don’t know. I actually have no idea why I told _you_ about that, to be honest.”

“You needed somebody to talk to, and for some reason, I was your best choice? Only choice?”

“Best choice,” Seth admitted. “I, uh, I’m not out to most of my friends.” He frowned at Roman’s lifted eyebrow. “I’m not ready to just tell them I’m into guys as well as women. They expect girls, they’re all straight frat boy gym types. I dunno how they’d react to-”

“To Dean?”

“Have you noticed how _most_ people react to Dean? How did you react to him?”

“Thought he was fuckin crazy.” Roman sipped his coffee, his grey eyes on Seth’s face. “But I’m revising my opinion, the more I hear from you.”

Seth snorted. “That’s how I felt too, though. I’m not sure when the whole…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Whatever it is, happened. And then the overdose, and you, and now he’s living on my couch and eating all my food and I’m pretty sure my dog likes him more than he likes me, and for some reason, I’m actually alright with all of this? So maybe I’m a little crazy too.”

“We’re all a little crazy in our own ways,” Roman told him. “You should meet my cousins, they jump off of shit professionally.”

“How do you even get into a profession like that?” Low, raspy, and sounding like cigarettes, Dean’s voice announced him seconds before he slid onto the stool next to Roman, who had jumped visibly. “Relax, I just got here, I have no idea what y’all were even talking about, but since “crazy” was mentioned, I’m assuming me.”

“Or maybe you’re just arrogant as all hell,” Seth snorted, setting down Dean’s usual mug of black coffee. “Wan anything to eat, or have you raided the fridge already?”

“Raided the fridge- you’re out of milk, and cheese. And pop-tarts.”

“I just bought pop-tarts!” Seth protested. He gave Dean a cheese croissant anyway, and Roman smirked.

“You two already sound like an old married couple, and it’s been like three days. I’m Roman, by the way.” He offered his hand, which Dean regarded like he had just been offered a live scorpion, and Roman gave up. “And you’re Dean, and I’m shutting up.”

“Nah.” Dean shook his head, biting into his croissant. “Nothing personal, man, I just… don’t touch strangers. Although I guess you saved my life, so maybe we’re not actually strangers, I dunno.” He took another huge bite, and Seth wordlessly set out another croissant.

“Why does everyone keep saying I saved your life? It’s my job, what was I gonna do, just let you die?”

“Well some people might have.” Dean shrugged. “But you’re a paramedic.”

“Barely. I actually only passed the cert for EMT-P like a month ago.” He saw Dean and Seth exchange confused looks and chuckled. “Basically, there are four levels of EMTs, Basic, Intermediate, Advanced, and Paramedic. Each level has different things they’re allowed to do, like… Basics can do CPR, but not intubate anyone- they don’t have enough hours. It takes at least a thousand classroom hours to be certified as a paramedic. I have a thousand and twenty-eight classroom hours, plus eight years of practical.” Roman allowed himself a moment to preen.

“That’s impressive. I had no idea it took that much training,” Seth said.

“Fuck, I didn’t even know there were levels.” Dean shrugged. “But hey, if I had to get saved, I’m glad the highest level dude was around to do it.” He attacked his second croissant, and Seth had to restrain himself from ruffling Dean’s hair fondly. He picked up a rag instead and started wiping down the counter to have something to do with his hands.

-*-

“So, I invited Roman to come shoot pool next Thursday.” Seth stretched up on his tiptoes to slide several cans of tuna onto the top shelf- who knew Dean loved tuna so damn much- and turned to Dean, who was staring into the sink, his lips a thin line. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothin’. I’m just tired.” He _looked_ tired, Seth had to agree. In the two days Dean had been here, he’d slept probably thirty hours out of them, and spent the rest of the time eating everything he could find.

“Maybe you should lie down?” Seth gave him a gentle push toward the living room. “I can wake you up for dinner.”

Dean nodded absently, took a few steps, then stopped and half-turned. “Wait, why you wanna hang out with that guy?”

Seth bent over to fill the vegetable crispers. “I like him, he seems like a cool guy. Plus, he saved your life. I’m pretty grateful for that, I sorta like having you around.”

“It’s his _job_ ,” Dean muttered, slouching away to go curl up on the couch.

Seth watched him go with a speculative look on his face, then shook his head and finished unpacking the groceries. He fished the receipt out of the last bag and leaned against the counter, running his thumb over the totals, and frowned when he reached the bottom. He had not accounted for Dean’s appetite, clearly.

Seth crumpled the receipt and pitched it into the sink; he had time to kill before he had to start making dinner- video games seemed like a good idea. Wandering out to the living room, he paused. He also hadn’t accounted for the fact that he had only one television, and one couch, currently occupied by a teeth-grinding, sleep-sweaty Dean.

He chewed his lip for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets, casting around for something to do. His eyes fell to Kevin, curled up near the back door, and he decided to take the dog for a walk; they could both use the exercise, and it wasn’t that cold. Seth glanced out the window- snowing a bit, though- and buckled Kevin’s coat around him. He clipped on the leash and snagged his wallet, phone and keys. “Come on, buddy. Let’s leave Dean to sleep, he needs it.”

 

He was perusing a beaten copy of Watership Down in the thrift store three blocks from his place, Kevin curled snugly into his jacket, when Roman spoke up behind him. “Is that a dog in your coat?”

“Mhm.” Seth glanced over. “It’s not like they care if he’s on the floor, I just like to stick him in my coat to make people ask questions like that.”

“Seth Trollins,” Roman snickered. He leaned against the shelf, wearing what might be the biggest sheepskin coat Seth had ever seen in his life. “I swear I’m not following you, by the way. I seriously live like two blocks over.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen you before.”

“You have?”

“You’re kind of hard to miss, man.” Seth tucked the paperback under his arm and reached for another book. “It’s one of those things, where you see folks and don’t really notice them until they come into your orbit, I think.”

“Right, I mean, I’ve seen you around too. Just never had a reason to say anything, I guess. Aside from “Thanks” when you handed me coffee.”

“I was the same with Dean. Never really took notice of him, aside from avoiding that whole bunch when I went to work, unless I had to chase him off the sidewalk for starting fights in front of the coffeeshop.”

“Now he’s camping in your living room.” Roman picked up a Nicholas Sparks novel, paged to the centre, made a face and put it back down. “For some reason.”

He was hedging, and Seth knew it. He shrugged. “I really think this might be a shot for him to straighten himself out.”

“And you like him.”

Seth wedged Black Beauty under his arm too, deliberately avoiding Roman’s amused look. “I like you too, though.”

“Not the same way.”

“...No. Not the same way,” Seth admitted. Roman tickled Kevin under the chin, and waited. “I dunno, something about him is… attractive, to me. Not just physically- god knows, if it was just physical, I could have found someone who didn’t smell like grease and sweat, which he did, when I first met him. I mean, not that it was his fault,” Seth hurried to say. “And he was still attractive. I don’t know what it is. He’s erratic and violent and fuckin crazy sometimes, but other times he can be really funny and charming.” Seth sighed. “And I can’t tell him to leave now- I don’t want to, anyway- but he’d wind up using again, maybe dead, and then I’d have that on my conscience.”

“You can’t save him if he doesn’t want to be saved.”

“He doesn’t need me to save him. He just needs a chance to save himself, and I can help with that.” Seth picked out a couple of Stephen King novels, Pet Sematary and Cujo, two he didn’t have, and knew Dean didn’t either, and a dusty hardback of To Kill A Mockingbird. He’d avoided the romance- Dean didn’t look like a romance guy- but other than that, wasn’t sure what Dean would read. Seth didn’t know much newer fiction, admittedly, so he’d been relegated to choosing the books he’d read in school. He should bring Dean along, one day, he thought, and turned to Roman. “You just hang out in thrift stores and stalk baristas, or what?”

Roman looked sheepish and held up a large ceramic owl. It was wearing a top hat and monocle, and Seth thought he’d never seen an owl that looked so witless. “Uh…”

“My sister and I have this ongoing gag gift war, and I tend to find the best ones in places like this,” Roman explained.

“Well, you’ll definitely win with this.” Seth gave it a critical look, Kevin craning from his jacket to sniff the statue.

“She’s beat me two years in a row, I am determined to take home the prize this year.”

“There’s a _prize_ for this?”

“Not having to take home both gifts _is_ the prize,” Roman told him as they walked toward the checkout. “I have a shelf in my closet full of the ugliest gifts you could possibly imagine.”

“Is it because you’re really bad at finding hideous gifts, or is your sister just really good?”

“Angela is just really good. Thanks.” This was directed at the cashier as he took the bag she handed him and turned to Seth. “You guys have plans for Christmas?”

Seth piled the books on the counter and shook his head. “I don’t. I haven’t even asked Dean. He’d probably just do that snorty eye roll he does when he finds something stupid.” He passed the cashier a ten and lifted Kevin from his coat before he picked up the bag. “Normally, this is when I go back home to visit my family, but I don’t think that’ll happen this year.”

“Same. Well, I’m still going. I meant this is when I fly back to Florida to see the parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins, et cetera, et cetera. Family until the end of time, basically.”

“I got a big family too,” Seth laughed, pushing open the door. “My family is half Armenian, half Hispanic and all Catholic.”

“Good grief. As far as I know, we’re just Samoan.”

Seth shuffled the bag of books into one hand, Kevin’s leash in the other and fell into step next to Roman. “And in one conversation, I know more about you than I do about Dean.”

“You guys don’t talk?”

“I talk. He listens.” Seth shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to like to talk about his family, or his past. I’m guessing he has his reasons. I don’t press; I promised I wouldn’t make him tell me anything, unless he wanted to.”

“That’s generous of you,” Roman replied, somewhat sardonically. “I mean, you let the guy move in and you know nothing about him, but you know him better than me.”

“I have no idea why I asked him to move in,” Seth said, defensive. “Maybe it’s a bad life choice, and maybe he’ll murder me in my bed and take all my shit, but if he wanted to hurt me, he’s had multiple chances over the last three months.”

“All right, I wasn’t criticising,” Roman soothed, holding up placating hands as they waited at a stoplight. “You gotta admit, though, most people wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I know, I know, and everyone thinks I’m crazy for doing it, but it felt like the right thing to do.” Seth sighed. “I turn here, by the way.”

“I go that way.” Roman pointed straight ahead.

“Or you could turn here and come help me make dinner,” Seth suggested, because of course he did, hadn’t he already established a habit of bringing strange- or almost strange- men home with him?

“Or I could turn here with you and come help make dinner,” Roman agreed, although he looked a little surprised. Probably wasn’t roped into culinary servitude on the daily, Seth decided.

 

Dean was awake when they got to the apartment, sitting on the couch, frizzy-haired and disgruntled, arms crossed over his bare chest as he glared at the blank TV, the fingers of his right hand rolling Jeremy’s bubble over and over against his palm. He brightened slightly as Seth came in the door, then scowled when he saw Roman in the hall behind him. “Where’d you go?”

“Took Kevin for a walk. Ran into Roman at the thrift store. He had to see a man about an owl.” Seth dropped the bag of books onto the counter and stooped to unclip Kevin’s leash. “Figured you’d be conked out for a bit.”

“I was,” Dean grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest as Seth walked past to hang coats in the closet. “So he followed you home?”

“I was invited,” Roman corrected. “But it was under the conditions that I help cook.”

“I could help cook,” Dean protested, giving Seth a suspicious look.

“Dean, you put hazelnut coffee creamer in macaroni and cheese last night,” Seth reminded him. Roman stifled a snicker, and Dean glared at them both.

“I figured it was _milk-like_ , so it would work.”

Roman coughed. “And was it a delightful taste sensation?”

Seth grinned. “No. No, it was not. Zero out of ten, would not try again. C’mon, you can help chop peppers.”

“What are we making?” Roman asked, following Seth into the kitchen.

“Peppersteak. Literally, peppers and steak, in sauce.”

Dean slumped into the couch, glowering at nothing in particular, trying to ignore the noises of camaraderie coming from the kitchen. Who even _was_ this Roman guy, and why was he suddenly best buddies with Seth? He knew Seth had other friends, of course, gym buddies and guys he went to baseball games with and shit, but as far as Dean knew, Seth and Roman hadn’t even met before… well, before. Now he was helping cook and going to shoot pool on Thursday? Dean’s scowl deepened, and he pushed himself up off the couch.

“Do you ever work?”

“ _Dean!_ ” Seth admonished him, dropping strips of steak into a crackling frying pan. “Be nice.”

“I’m never nice. No, seriously, you were at the coffeeshop earlier, and then you just _happen_ to run into Seth right by his apartment. Aren’t you a paramedic? You should be at work.”

“Paramedics get days off,” Roman rumbled, scraping peppers from a cutting board. To Seth’s relief, he looked more amused at Dean’s rudeness than anything. He didn’t seem to be offended, which was probably for the best, considering that he was enormous and holding a large knife, and Dean, while big, was wearing blue sweatpants and armed with a plastic bubble containing a cracker.

“So you spend your days off hanging around Seth?”

“Isn’t that what _you_ do?” Roman replied mildly, lifting his eyebrows. Dean glared at him, and Seth decided to interject. “Dean, I brought you some books-”

“Don’t care, I wanna know what this fuckin guy thinks he’s fuckin doing.” Dean pointed at Roman with the hand holding Jeremy, his voice rising.

“I think I’m helping your friend cook food for you.” Roman set the knife down- Seth sighed in relief- and turned to Dean, folding his arms across his chest, muscles bulging like coconuts.

“And you’re being an ass,” Seth hissed into Dean’s ear, pushing at his chest. “Will you _please_ just _stop_?”

“Oh, sorry, was I getting in the middle of your little domestic romance?” Dean snapped back, lifting his arms like he was under arrest.

Roman barked out a laugh. “Are you seriously _jealous_? I’m straight, man. I assure you, I have no interest in Seth beyond thinking he’s a nice guy who’s fun to talk to.”

“And I’m really not interested in you two going mano a mano in my fucking kitchen, so Dean, will you please go sit down?” Seth interjected, before Dean could reply. He shoved at Dean’s bare chest again, pushing him over the threshold of the kitchen. “We can talk about this later.”

Dean stalked off back to the couch, slamming himself down onto it, and Seth pushed his hair out of his eyes wearily, turning back to Roman. “I’m sorry about that, man. I had no idea he would act like this.”

“ _I can fuckin hear you, y’know!”_ Dean yelled from the living room, and Seth scowled.

“ _Good!_ Maybe you’ll learn some damn _manners_ when company comes over,” he hollered back, even though he knew better, even though he didn’t want to make this more awkward for Roman. He could never fucking help himself around Dean, apparently.

“You, uh, you want me to take off, man?” Roman jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t want to make shit weird for you.”

“Nah, you’re not the one causing problems,” Seth answered, low enough that Dean couldn’t hear. “Seriously, don’t worry about it, I’ll talk to him later, sort shit out.” He yanked open a cupboard and banged three bowls onto the counter. “I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me because of my crazy… whatever he is. Roommate. I don’t know.” Seth bent his head over the bowls, his fingers gripping the edge of the countertop, breathing out his frustration.

“Aight. Where’s your silverware? Unless you want us to eat with our fingers.”

“That drawer there.” Seth gestured, suddenly tired. “Seriously, though. Sorry.”

“You ain’t gotta apologize to me, Seth. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you’re feeding me, which means I can forgive anything.” Roman grinned at him, and Seth smiled back. Good, so Dean hadn’t killed this budding friendship.

Speaking of Dean, who had been suspiciously quiet, Seth set the bowls he was carrying down on the table and looked around for him. “Did you hear him leave?”

“Nope. He in the bathroom, maybe?”

“Door’s open, and the light’s off. Maybe he’s in the bedroom.” Although why Dean would go into Seth’s room, he had no idea. “I’ll go look, hang on.”

He returned after an rapid exchange in low voices, and picked up one of the bowls. "Dean's gonna eat later," he explained, and Roman was wise enough to let go of his curiosity, turning the conversation to the safer ground of the University's basketball team.

Once Roman had decamped- his offer to help with the dishes declined, but their plans to meet at the bowling alley on Thursday for beer and pool confirmed- Seth squared his shoulders and walked toward his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Roman has a brother, not a sister, but just assume he's the youngest of three, okay? I'm just way oto amused by Roman purchasing a derpy owl statuette.
> 
> Yes, Dean is hella jelly about Roman and Seth getting to be friends, and Seth is not okay with that. I *do* recognize that extreme jealousy is a problem, don't worry. All will come right in the end.
> 
> My ex boyfriend actually did the hazelnut coffee creamer in mac and cheese thing. *shakes his head*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the relationship building continues.
> 
> Hey, without that, there's going to be no payoff, now is there?
> 
> We finally find out what the hell Dean is doing in Seth's room, Dean reveals his past to Seth and maybe, just maybe, Dean is getting to be okay with Roman.

Seth’s bedroom door creaked, so Dean had just enough warning to sit up straight and quit chewing on the side of his thumb as Seth came into the dimly lit room and stared at him. He leaned against the pillows and gave Seth a cocky smirk. “Hey, we alone now?”

“Get out of my bed,” Seth sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Dean had been sitting on the end of the bed and staring morosely at the worn blue carpet when Seth had poked his head in last. Sometime between then and now, he’d taken it upon himself to disrobe- his sweatpants were pooled on the floor- and climb into Seth’s bed.

Dean stretched, languid, blinking up at him in the lamplight. “Why don’t you come get into it?”

“No. Dean, no.” Seth ducked his head, scratching at the side of his neck, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but the hair on Dean’s chest, the trail rippling down his belly and tapering down under the sheets. “I’m not gonna sleep with you, so you might as well get up and put your damn pants back on. Come on, get up.” 

The realization that Seth wasn’t kidding dawned on Dean’s face and he sat up, slowly, his eyes downcast. He crossed his arms over his chest, fingers tapping rhythmically against his left pectoral. He cleared his throat, quietly. “You don’t want me.”

Seth sighed, rolling his brown eyes toward the ceiling, composing himself. He looked back at Dean, in his bed- _in his **bed** , and with nothing on_-, hunched in on himself with his hair hanging in his eyes, and thought he’d never seen the man look so miserable. “It’s not that.” He crossed the floor, stooping to pick up Dean’s sweats and hand them to him before sitting on the side of the bed. “Really, it’s not. I just… I mean, you’re still recovering. Not just from the overdose, you’re still recovering from the drugs altogether. Probably not the best time to start-” he gestured vaguely. “Anything like this.”

Dean drew his pants back on, under the covers, and sat looking at the side of Seth’s head. “I don’t know what to do to make you want me. I mean, you keep, like… fuckin mixed signals, y’know?”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Seth combed his fingers through his hair, working out tangles while he tried to think of what to say, some way to explain himself. “I _am_ attracted to you, okay? And I don’t want to, like, take advantage of anything.”

Dean snorted. “S’not like that’s never happened before.”

“But I’m not like that.” Seth gave him a steady look. “I don’t know what shit’s been like for you- I can guess, but I don’t know, since you never tell me anything- but I didn’t offer you my couch to get you to sleep with me. I did it to help you.” Seth stood up, and Dean slithered out from between the sheets and stood as well, cupping his elbows in either hand, his shoulders bowed inward.

“I, uh…” Dean scratched at the back of his head, his face screwed up in a way that made Seth’s heart flutter. “I dunno, I guess I figured, when you asked if you could kiss me, like… that meant you wanted more.”

Seth swallowed past the golf ball that had apparently taken residence in his throat. “I do, Dean.”

“Just not now.”

“Not now.” Seth reached for Dean, who pulled back, hesitant, before allowing the contact. Seth smoothed the back of his hand over Dean’s scratchy cheek. “Let’s just focus on getting you healthy first, okay?” _And give me time to deal with the fact that I’m planning on romancing a junkie_ he thought, then amended _-ex-junkie_. He’d been attracted to Dean since Dean had wandered in that night, he was willing to admit that much, and he liked Dean, but he still wasn’t sure if actually _dating_ Dean was what he really wanted. 

_And I still don’t know what the hell you want,_ he thought, as Dean’s eyes drifted closed and he leaned into the touch. “You should eat, though.”

“Mm. I could eat, yeah,” Dean agreed. He nuzzled into Seth’s palm. “But this is nice too.”

“You know, you could be nicer to Roman,” Seth murmured, stepping closer. Dean leaned his forehead against Seth’s shoulder, and Seth- even though he had _just_ explained, to himself and Dean, why this was a bad idea- found his arms slipping around that incredibly slim waist, pressing his hands against the small of Dean’s back, holding him. “He really is a nice guy.”

“He’s a jerkoff,” Dean grumbled, but there was no aggressiveness in it.

“He’s not. You’re just jealous. He said he was straight.”

“M’not jealous.” Dean tucked his nose into Seth’s neck. “Just don’t wanna lose the only good thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can’t be the only good thing.” Seth brought one hand up to stroke the back of Dean’s head, gently.

“No, you are,” Dean insisted. He pulled back to meet Seth’s eyes, blue into brown, and his mouth settled into a thin line. “Here, sit.” He steered Seth down onto the bed and perched next to him. “Look, you said I never tell you anything, so I’ll give you a rundown, yeah?”

Seth swallowed again. “I never meant to say that. You don’t have to tell me anything.” He ignored the lingering apprehension that Roman’s earlier words- “ _you let him move in and you know nothing about him_ ”- had left in him.

Dean shook his head. “Nah, you said it. You wouldn’t have said it if some part of you didn’t mean it. You wanna know, so I’ll fuckin tell you. Basics, anyway.” He drew one leg up, resting his forearm across his knee, and sighed. “Right, so I was born in Cincinnati. My mom was- is- an alcoholic, and a junkie. She didn’t fuckin want me. I dunno why she even had me, cause neither of my parents wanted me. I dunno my dad that well. He got arrested when I was around five, and I guess he fuckin took off after that.” Dean flicked his fingers against the side of his thumb, agitated, and Seth rested his hand on Dean’s thigh, reassuring. Dean cleared his throat again. 

“So, single mother, no job, boozehound, pills and shit, whatever. Boyfriends in and out, and I guess at some point, one of them got her into hooking. She worked the corner like four, five blocks from our shitty apartment, in our shitty neighbourhood, and I had to walk past her every day, comin home from school, or going out with my buddies. I walked real fuckin fast, I tell you. Didn’t want to see her- see what she did, to feed us.” Dean shrugged. “You see where I get the, uh… habits I have from.”

Seth decided immediately not to ask, ever, if Dean had followed his mother into the same profession, although something inside him figured that Dean probably wasn’t a stranger to selling himself. “Yeah, I see.”

“So whatever, we were living in this shitty low-income housing, and I pretty much raised myself til I was like 13 or so. That’s when my math teacher decided she had to report the bruises she kept seein on me, my mom’s boyfriends or whatever, they’d get shitfaced, beat the shit out of me. I got the shit kicked out of me a lot, at home, at school, on the streets. Whatever.”  
i  
Dean nibbled at his cuticle for a minute, worrying his forefinger before continuing. “I got taken into foster care, bumped around to three, four of them before I decided, fuck this, and I took off. I was like fifteen, and then I met up with this guy, big dealer in the neighbourhood, and started running shit for him. I did that, livin on the streets in Cincy, til I was seventeen, eighteen, and then he got arrested and I set up my own little operation. It was alright, up until it was nearly time for him to get out- he only got three years- so I broke from that and came out here before he could get out and come after me. Think I was like twenty, twenty-one. And then I got into the meth.”

Dean shrugged, refusing to meet Seth’s eyes. “So yeah. Dean’s life story, a novel. Never told anyone that much. Y’oughta feel special. And _don’t_ fuckin repeat it. I’m not some feel-good soap opera shit.”

“Jesus, man.” Seth couldn’t even _imagine_ what he’d do if he’d had that sort of upbringing, let alone listing it off so… impassively. “No, I won’t tell anyone. Not anyone else’s business. But oh my god.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not really anything to be sad about. Lots of folks deal with the same shit.” He pushed himself up, still avoiding Seth’s gaze. “And this is the last time we’re talkin about this. I told you, cause you deserve to know what kind of garbage you took in, but I’m not real interesting in discussing it more’n I just did.”

“Right, yeah, I uh, I won’t bring it up. Thank you for telling me. For trusting me enough.”

Dean shrugged again. “Hey, fair’s fair. You trusted me enough to let me stay here, so whatever. I can do the Silence of the Lambs shit, quid pro quo and all. I’m gonna go eat.”

Seth sat there after Dean left, listening to him clattering around the kitchen, digesting everything he’d just been told. Dean had called it a summary, and Seth really didn’t want to dwell on what Dean might have left out. He flat-lined the waves of pity that kept trying to roil up in his chest, because Dean didn’t _want_ pity. He’d said it wasn’t anything to be sad about, and Seth realized he needed to accept that, even if he didn’t agree with it.

Dean was stabbing moodily at the strips of steak in his bowl when he heard Seth padding up behind him. Great, just what he needed. Seth giving him sad puppy eyes, treating him like he was some fucking fragile porcelain figure or something. Dean had never told anyone about his whole past, and he was fuming at himself for pouring it all out to Seth. He speared a pepper and glared at it as Seth sat down across from him.

“You wanna watch a movie?”

Dean blinked. That was unexpected. Maybe Seth wasn’t going to treat him like a damn Lifetime movie. “I guess.” Warily, which Seth picked up on. 

“I dunno what you’d wanna watch, but I’ve got a whole cabinet full of DVDs that I keep buying and never actually watching.” 

Dean nodded, shovelling the last of his dinner into his mouth and getting up to dump his dishes in the sink. “You wanna wash these now, or what?”

“You offering to help?”

Dean grunted in response, twisting the tap on and hunting for dish soap. Seth grinned and got up. “It’s under the sink. Wash or dry?”

“Wash. You can put shit away, I dunno where anything goes.”

“No, you just look for food, not dishes, right?” Seth teased. “The milk level keeps going down, and yet there are never any glasses in the sink.”

“Maybe I wash em when I’m done.”

“Or maybe you drink straight out of the jug.” The look on Dean’s face confirmed that, even without his saying anything, and Seth shook his head. “Just don’t backwash, and I’ll try not to think about it.”

“Mm.” Dean passed him a bowl and plunged his hands back into the soapy water. “Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“I uh... “ Dean coughed. “Sorry for being a dick. Before. It was stupid.”

“A little, yeah.” Seth flipped the dish towel over his shoulder and stacked the clean bowls in the cupboard over his head. “But I kinda get your reasoning, now. And you are a moody motherfucker. I should have cleared it with you first.”

“S’your place, man. Ain’t gotta clear shit with me.” Dean swilled water around the frying pan, frowning. “Not my place to tell you who you can and can’t bring over.”

“Well… yeah, but… I mean, I don’t want you to feel threatened or whatever.”

Dean snorted derisively and Seth chuckled. “You’re coming on Thursday, right?”

“If you want. Don’t know how Roman will feel about that.”

“I didn’t say that you _weren’t_ gonna be there. Just try to be nice, okay? You might find that you like him.” Seth handed Dean the dish towel to dry his hands. “Come on, let’s go find a movie.”

Dean was utterly apathetic towards movie choices, so Seth slotted a Will Ferrell comedy into the DVD player and came back to the couch where Dean was wrapped up in a blanket, blinking sleepily. “Hey, you gonna conk out on me?”

“Prob’ly,” Dean mumbled. He was tired all the damn time now, which wasn’t normal. Although, he reasoned, normal for him the past few years had been sleeping once or twice a week and running on a high the rest of the time, so what the hell did he know?

Seth flopped down next to him, and Dean leaned in, settling his head on Seth’s shoulder with a soft sigh. He was asleep twenty minutes into the film, and Seth, against his better judgement, settled back into the cushions, Dean curled against his chest.

 

Sunlight streaming through the vertical blinds woke him the next morning, Dean still passed out on top of him, and Seth jerked fully awake, patting frantically around for his phone. “Shit fuck, what time is it?” He pulled his phone out from where it was wedged between his hip and Dean’s belly and checked the screen. “Shit. Dean, Dean, wake up!”

“Hrmph?”

“Get up, get off me, I have to be at work in five minutes!”

Dean sat up, his curly hair frizzing out wildly, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Y’work at eleven.”

“Yes, and it’s ten fifty-five.” Seth rolled off the couch, raking his hair back and grabbing his jacket. He had no time to change, he might just make it if he ran the six blocks to the coffeeshop. “Look, I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied as the door shut behind Seth, still half-asleep. 

Fucking hell, why hadn’t he set an alarm last night? Seth berated himself as he raced down the sidewalk, one hand in his jacket pocket, rummaging for the pack of gum he knew was there. He skirted an old lady, scattered a flock of pigeons, and darted across the street in front of a bus, skidding to a halt in front of the coffeeshop and wrenching the door open at six minutes after eleven. 

Paul looked up from the inventory sheet he was leaning over and frowned. “Seth, if you’re going to be asking for extra shifts, you need to be on time for them.”

“Right, sorry Paul. I forgot to set an alarm last night. I literally just woke up, and ran all the way here.”

“Well, I’ll give you credit for that,” Paul replied, wrinkling his nose at Seth’s sweaty, dishevelled appearance. “Go straighten up in the bathroom, alright?”

Seth ducked into the bathroom to splash some water on his face and finger-comb his hair before yanking it back into a bun and straightening his clothes. Maybe he could call the house and get Dean to bring him some deodorant later. He crunched another piece of gum and went back out to tie his apron on and apologize again to Paul for being late.

Dean showed up halfway through his shift, sadly without Seth’s deodorant, and slid onto his usual stool at the counter, spreading a newspaper out in front of him. Seth sidled over about ten minutes after Dean had taken up residence. “What are you doing?”

Dean squinted at the classifieds, trying to make out the small print. “Lookin.”

“For?”

“A job,” Dean muttered, his ears flushing red. “You’re s’posed to be the 4 to close guy, Seth, but you’re workin all these other shifts.”

“Well- hang on,” Seth said, moving away to serve a group of chattering high school girls before returning. “Yeah, I asked for a few extra shifts.”

“Cause of me.”

“Well, you eat a lot, Dean. But you don’t have to get a job. I don’t, uh, I don’t know if working full-time is a great idea for you right now.” He ignored Dean’s glare. “Seriously, you just got out of the hospital.”

“But I’m living on your charity.”

“I offered you a place to stay,” Seth hissed back. “That wasn’t dependent on your employment, and you know it. It’s not charity.” He went off to serve another crush of customers, and when he looked back, the stool was empty.

 

So was the couch, when he got home, and Seth double-checked that all of Dean’s things were still there. They were and he spent a long thirty-five minutes pacing the apartment before the door finally clicked open. He sprang at Dean as soon as he walked in. “Where were you?”

“Out,” was Dean’s reply. He shrugged out of his jacket and shuffled past Seth to hang it up. “Dropping off applications.”

“Dean, I told you-”

“I know what you told me,” Dean snapped. He flexed the fingers of his right hand several times, calming himself. “Told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Seth growled. “Look at you, you’re covered in sweat and you’re shaking. You look like you’re going to fall over. Will you sit down? Please?”

Dean looked like he was going to argue, but swayed into the wall, and Seth took the opportunity to grab his elbow and guide him to the couch. “Don’t worry about it, Dean, really. The only thing I want you to focus on right now is you. You’re getting healthy. _That’s_ your job right now.” Seth sat down, pulling Dean’s legs over his lap. “I don’t need the extra shifts. I don’t-” because Dean had given him a skeptical look- “I’m taking them because they’re available, and I can always use the extra money. It’s not because of you.” 

“Still think I should do somethin.” Dean brightened. “I bet I could get good pay running for my old dealer-”

“Not a fucking chance in hell,” Seth cut him off. “Don’t even _think_ about that. You’ll get right back into it, Dean. Don’t give me that look, you know it and I know it.”

“Just tryin to help.”

“Well, that’s not the way to do it.” Seth patted Dean’s denim-clad knee. “When you’re better off, we’ll find you a job, okay?”

Dean rolled onto his side with a soft groan, his eyes fluttering closed. Seth eased Dean’s legs from his lap and stood up. He checked his phone and went to start dinner, leaving Dean to sleep, figuring that what Dean needed most was sleep and food and more sleep.

~^~

Seth leaned over the table, surveying the lay and eyeing up his best shot. Behind him, Dean was perched on a stool, glowering and nursing a beer, but making conversation with Roman, albeit somewhat grudgingly. The rumble of bowling balls and the jukebox pumping through the speakers meant that Seth couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Roman was smiling, teeth flashing at whatever Dean was saying to him. Seth lined up his shot, and took it, sinking the five and moving around the table to try for the seven, but missed. He straightened up and motioned to Roman. “Your shot, man.”

“You got a better chance at sinking the eleven,” Dean commented as Roman lined up for a shot at the fourteen. 

“Huh. Yeah, I do. Thanks.” Roman shifted his position and sent the red and white striped ball into the pocket. Seth jabbed Dean with his elbow.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to offer assistance to the enemy.”

“Since when am I the enemy?” Roman protested, bending low and snapping the twelve across the table and into the side pocket.

“Since you’re beating me at pool.” Seth watched glumly as the nine and fifteen followed the twelve. “I didn’t know you were so good at this.”

“If you had known, would you have decided to play me?” Roman asked, making an attempt at dropping the thirteen and missing.

“...probably. I don’t get a chance to play very much, and I love pool.” Seth eyed the two as Roman came back to stand by Dean. “You get your flights straightened out yet?”

“I still have a longass layover in Denver, but yeah, I’ve pretty much gotten my plans laid out.”

“Plans for what?” Dean asked, wincing as Seth whiffed wildly on his shot. “You are so bad at this.”

“I said I didn’t play much,” Seth protested.

“I’m heading back to Florida for Christmas,” Roman answered Dean. “That’s where I’m from.”

“Why the fuck did you move _here_? It’s fuckin cold here.”

“And it’s fuckin hot in Florida,” Roman countered. “I like it here. Y’all doing anything for Christmas?”

Dean stiffened, and cast a look over at Seth, who spent rather longer than necessary chalking his cue before answering. “I don’t think so. We haven’t discussed anything.”

“I know you said you usually head back to Iowa, was just wondering.”

Dean was curling into himself, his hand creeping up to rub against his chest, Seth noticed. “I think I’d rather stay here. It’s just easier than flying my dog back, y’know.”

“Right.” Roman lifted his eyebrows. “I imagine flying with a dog is, uh, inconvenient. Extra cost and all.”

“Yeah.” Seth felt relieved at Roman’s ability to assess a situation at a glance. “You got your owl all packed?”

“He is wrapped in my underpants and ready to fly,” Roman confirmed. He snapped the eight ball home and stood up. “My game.”

“ _Again_?” Seth gave him a disgusted look. “You’re entirely too damn good at this.”

“Sorry.” Roman spread his hands. “Maybe Dean will have better luck.”

Seth offered the cue and Dean, after a moment of contemplation, slid from the stool he was perched on and took it. Seth took up the perch, picking up his own beer from the sideboard next to their table. “Teach him a lesson, Dean.”

Dean snorted. “I’m not that much better than you are, to be honest. You break, Roman.”

Roman complied, sending the balls scattering wildly over the table and dropping two. “And I am solids again.”

Dean was actually a pretty fair pool player, and there was the added bonus of Seth getting to check out his ass when he bent over for a shot. Roman prodded him with his cue every time he caught him looking, and by the end of their second game- which Dean won- the sides of Seth’s yellow T-shirt were smudged with dots of blue. Dean flicked his finger against one of them, confused, and Seth and Roman burst out laughing.

“Your butt is, uh, really nice in those jeans,” Seth explained, his cheeks tinged red.”Roman was trying to keep me in line when he caught me looking.”

Dean’s tongue made a slow rotation around his cheek before he smirked. “If you wanted me to bend over so you could check out my ass, all you had to do was ask, babe.” 

“I’ll remember that,” Seth replied, checking his phone. “Shit, it’s like ten thirty already.”

Roman racked his cue. “Yeah, I gotta take off. I got the overnight shift, and my flight leaves at at eight pm.” He made a face. “Best I could do. Flights this time of year are insane.”

“Shoulda booked earlier,” Dean commented mildly, swigging down the last of his beer as they shrugged their jackets on.

“I usually do, but shit got in the way.” Roman waved it off without elaborating.

“Kinda shit?” Dean wheedled, ignoring Seth’s elbow to his ribs as they stepped out into the crisp night air.

“Girlfriend shit,” Roman replied. “She wanted me to go home with her, and I’m like, I can’t, my family is expecting me and she got all pissed and I explained my ninety-four year old grandmother is really sick and this might be the last time I see her and it was just a big mess.”

“Wow. What a bitch,” Dean commented cheerfully, and Seth elbowed him again. “ _Ow!_ What?”

“You can’t just call his girlfriend a bitch, Dean.”

“Well maybe she shouldn’t act like one. You call me an asshole when I act like one,” Dean argued. Seth pressed his palm against his face with a groan, but Roman was chuckling.

“You can’t argue with his logic, Seth.”

“Dean’s logic is rarely normal-people logic, though.”

“In this case, you can’t argue with it,” Roman amended. “Here’s where I turn. I’ll catch you guys after the holidays, yeah?”

“Naturally. I owe you an ass-kicking in our next pool game,” Dean replied, to everyone’s surprise. Seth gave him a pensive look as they crunched over the sidewalks toward the apartment.

“You seem to have done a 180.”

Dean shrugged. “You want me to get along with him, so I’m getting along with him. He likes football, I like football, we’re good.”

“And the fact that he’s totally straight and not interested in me has no bearing, right?”

“None whatsoever. You’re very arrogant, Seth.”

Seth shoved him off the curb.


	9. Chapter 9

Lights, draped carefully over and around the branches. Ornaments, painstakingly placed in just the right positions. No tinsel, but a small, glittery garland produced the same effect. 

Seth placed the star on the top, reverently, and stepped back to admire his handiwork as Dean clattered into the apartment, a paper grocery bag tucked into one arm, Kevin’s leash in his other hand. 

"Tell me you didn't take the dog to the grocery store, Dean."

"Huh? Nah. Library's doin a book giveaway, I guess to get rid of shit they don't want no more. Kevin n me went to check it out."

"I just bought you books last week!"

"I know. I like the one with the rabbits. But y'can't have too many books, Seth." Dean started to rummage through the bag before he caught sight of the tree for the first time. His eyes narrowed, and his tongue started working at the side of his mouth. "What's that for?"

“For Christmas, Dean, what do you think?”

Dean reached out and pulled the top of the tree forward before letting it spring back, still chewing on his tongue, apparently- Seth didn’t even _know_ how he could do that- and looking pensive. 

“Don’t do that, I worked hard on that!” Seth rushed forward to straighten the tree he’d spent the last hour decorating.

“It’s a foot tall, how is that hard?”

Seth tilted his head, scrutinizing the tiny evergreen. “It has to look right. You don’t like it?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I thought you were, like, staying here for Christmas.” He fiddled with an ornament and Seth swatted his hand away. 

“I am. Why do you think I bought this choice tree and all the ornaments and stuff?”

Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, ducking his head. 

Seth bit his lip. “You don’t like it?”

“I guess it’s alright. Never had a Christmas tree before, don’t really know if I’m supposed to like them. Christmas wasn’t really a thing when I was a kid.” 

Of course Dean had never had a Christmas tree. Seth, for lack of anything better to do, started fiddling with ornaments again, trying to keep the sadness he felt off his face. 

He thought back to the Christmases of his childhood in Iowa. Crunching through the gently falling snow with his father to look for the perfect tree, his grandparents coming over Christmas Eve. His uncle dressing up like Santa to delight Seth, his brothers and all the cousins. Rushing down the stairs at the crack of dawn to gape at the pile of gifts under the glittering tree, then his mother and grandma spending all day cooking in between chasing children from the kitchen, playing with his new Christmas presents… 

Dean hadn’t had any of that. Seth swallowed past the lump in his throat, reminding himself that Dean hated pity. “Well… they’re usually bigger than this,” was all he could say.

“Yeah, I know. They’re kind of everywhere this time of year. So, uh… we’re doin the Christmas thing then, or?”

“I, um… I don’t know,” Seth admitted. He’d had nothing in particular in mind when he’d bought the tree, aside from that it would be nice to have some acknowledgement of the season inside the apartment. “Do you, uh, do you _want_ to do the Christmas thing?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno how to do the Christmas thing, man. Never fuckin did it, I toldja. And I got no money.” He flopped down on the couch and toed off his shoes. “D’you wanna do it?”

“I…” Seth had no idea. “I asked you first.”

Dean folded his long legs under him and slumped against the arm of the couch, cracking open Watership Down to where he’d left off the night before. “I don’t care.”

“Well-” Seth shrugged on his jacket. “I’ll leave it up to you, okay? I gotta run to work, I’ll see you at like 12:30?”

“You’ll see me,” Dean averred. “Whether I’m awake or not, you’re still gonna see me.”

“Asleep on my couch, right. Not quite what I meant, but sure.” He ruffled Dean’s hair on his way out the door, eliciting a grunt and a flapped hand.

~*~

What did one get a formerly-homeless former junkie for his very first Christmas gift, Seth mused, setting out doughnuts for the seventh time- “this city’s doughnut intake is some next level shit”- and even if he did get Dean something, would that just piss him off? Make him feel shitty? What if Dean decided that he didn’t want to do Christmas? 

“Maybe his heart will grow three sizes today,” Seth muttered to the maple glazes.

“Excuse me?” 

Seth yelped, shooting upright and clunking his head against the top of the glass display. There was suddenly a very tall black man and a short Hispanic woman standing at his counter. “Yes? Hi? I can help you? Er, can I-”

“You can, actually.I’m Detective Henderson, and this is Detective Ramos.” A badge was slid across the counter, and Seth bit his lip. 

“Uh. Hi?” He tried to calm his racing heart, and resisted the urge to wipe his hands against his jeans- and why were his palms suddenly so sweaty?- by laying them on the counter instead. “What, uh, what can I do for you? Officers,” he added, because wasn’t that how you were supposed to talk to cops?

“Do you know a Dean Ambrose? We’ve been informed that he comes here a lot.” The guy- Henderson?- was tucking his badge back into his jacket, and wow was he ever tall, Seth thought.

“Uh, kind of.” Seth drummed his fingers on the counter. “Is, uh… is he in trouble?” 

When was Dean _not_ in trouble, he wondered, but the cop was talking again.

“We’ve had a tip, so we’re following up on it,” Ramos explained. She was pulling out a notebook, and Seth could feel his ass start to sweat. It was his worst nervous habit, really, and not even one he could control. 

“A tip about?”

“Ambrose.” Now there was a pen- how did cops always have a thousand pens, Seth could never find even _one_ \- and Seth shuffled, trying to discreetly unstick his jeans from his left buttcheek. 

“Well, I’ll try to help you if I can-” He _could_ tell them Dean was, as far as he knew, curled up on Seth’s couch reading Watership Down, but he wanted to know what the hell they _wanted_ first. Oh god. Could they arrest him for _not_ telling them where Dean was? Seth didn’t think it would look particularly good for his future employment to be hustled out of Downtown Grounds in handcuffs.

And he was definitely going to stick his ass in the fridge as soon as these two left, provided that they didn’t take him with them. It was turning into Niagara back there. He shoved his hair back behind his ears. “So, uh, what did you need to ask me?”

“How well do you know Mr Ambrose?”

“Not that well,” Seth answered honestly. “He comes in a lot, gets coffee. He likes cheese croissants.”

Because _that_ was something that was crucial to their investigation. 

Ramos jotted something down. “And what do you know about his lifestyle?”

“Well, I know he’s had some, er, problems, in the past. With… things.”

“Narcotics.”

“Yes. Those things,” Seth replied lamely. 

“Do you think he’d be interested in talking to us about some of his former associates?” Henderson asked. He pulled a card out of his jacket, and Seth took it, although he was 96% sure that there was no way in hell that Dean was going to willingly talk to the cops.

“Uh, he might be? I could try and talk him into it, he seems to like me pretty well. What, uh, what’s this about though?” He saw the detectives exchange glances and charged ahead. “Well, I’m not gonna be much good at convincing if I don’t know what you want to talk to him about.”

“Like Detective Ramos said, we’ve had a tip. We’ve been told that Mr Ambrose may be able to give evidence.”

“Evidence? Against his dealer, or whatever?” Seth blinked. 

“Do _you_ know anything about his associates?” Ramos’ pen was poised, and Seth wondered if he could justify going home to shower and change into dry pants.

“I don’t,” Seth admitted. “I really don’t. But if I see him, I’ll give him your card.”

~^~

“They want me to _what_?” 

“Talk to them. I guess someone told them you might, you know-”

“Rat?”

Seth winced. “Kinda. I’m guessing your, er, associates were kind of a big deal?”

Dean chewed on his lip for a second. “Kind of.”

“I think you should talk to them.”

“I think you need to mind your own business,” Dean grumbled, hauling himself up and going to get a drink. 

“Maybe, yeah. But if I’d done that, where would you be?” Seth knew it wasn’t a fair thing to say, but life wasn’t fair, now was it? 

“Probably dead,” Dean said flatly, flopping back down with the milk carton. 

“Well, it’s up to you.” Seth lapsed into silence for a few moments. “You decide if you want to do the holiday thing?”

Dean bit at his thumbnail and shrugged. “If you wanna. Said I didn’t care.”

“I know. I just don’t want to go ahead and do it if you don’t want to.”

“But you wanna do it.”

“Yeah.” Seth nodded. “I kinda do. I like the holidays.”

“You usually go home, though, yeah?”

“Mhm. Every year since I moved out here.” Seth looked over at the tiny tree he’d set up that afternoon.

Dean took a swig of milk. “You shouldn’t stay here for me.”

“Nah, Dean, it’s alright.” Seth leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. Dean inched closer, and Seth stretched his arm along the back of the couch, inviting Dean closer without words. Dean eased himself into the crook of Seth’s shoulder, trying not to think about how well they fitted together like this.

“I can go.”

“No.” Seth pressed his nose into Dean’s hair. “No, I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“But your holidays-”

“Will be just fine right where I am,” Seth replied firmly. His hand rubbed lightly over Dean’s upper arm. “Please don’t spill milk on me.”

“Oh, right.” Dean sat up and set the milk on the floor before pressing back against Seth’s warm, solid side. “Better?”

“Better.” 

They sat there in a comfortable silence before Dean pulled away slightly. “Seth?”

“Hm.”

“You know I don’t have any money. I mean, I have like, four dollars in change, but I don’t have like… money, money.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Didn’t get called for any jobs,” Dean continued, and Seth didn’t ask whether Dean had really expected to get a call back for an interview.

“I told you, you don’t need a job right now.” He murmured this into Dean’s hair, wondering when he’d lost any semblance of self-control around Dean-it seemed to date back to December 7th, as far as he could pinpoint.

“My point is that I don’t- I mean, I can’t-”

“Don’t worry about it. We don’t have to do anything.”

“But you want to do the thing,” Dean protested. He wriggled around on the couch so that his head was pillowed on Seth’s thigh and crossed his arms. “I know you want to do the thing, and you can’t go home and do the thing with the family… thing.” Dean paused. “Thing isn’t even a word to me any more.” Seth snort-laughed, and Dean sat up, twisting around to sit on his haunches and look at Seth. 

“That’s not the point, though. The point is, I’m already screwing up your holidays, and I can’t get you anything for Christmas, cause you’re you, and you’d get me something really nice, and I’m gonna have to get you like an apple or something.”

“Have you been sitting here all day and dwelling on getting me an apple for Christmas?”

“Or an orange.” 

Like that was a perfectly reasonable alternative to spend a day in turmoil over, Seth thought. “I see. You know, I could lend you-”

“For your own present? C’mon, that’s just… that’s just _sad_.” Dean made a face. “See, this is why I didn’t want to do the thing.”

“Then we won’t do anything.”

Dean rolled off the couch with a growl. “But you _want_ to do the thing.”

“Well then we’ve reached an impasse,” Seth replied. He nudged Dean with his toe. “Get off the floor.”

“No,” Dean muttered into the carpet. 

“Dean.”

“Nope.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Dean’s nose was smashed into the carpet fibres, but now it was a matter of honour. “I still think you should just go home.”

“I am home,” Seth informed him.

“You know what I mean,” Dean complained. “Home, to your family.”

Would it be too sappy to tell Dean that he was becoming Seth’s family? Yes, Seth decided. Yes, it would be, and Dean wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Dean, get off the floor.”

Dean grunted, but didn’t move. Seth sighed. “I don’t have time to book a flight anyway, so you can stop pissing and moaning about how you’re ruining my life. You’re not. I knew I wasn’t going to get to head back this year, and I’m not worried about it. I explained the situation to my mother, and they understand. I told my mom that I’ll try to visit after New Year’s.” 

He didn’t add that his mother had told him to “bring your friend home with you” because dear lord, no, he was not letting Dean loose on his family. Not yet, anyway. “Now will you please get up?”

Dean lifted his head long enough to ask, “What are your feelings on grapes?”

“I have no strong feelings either way. Are you even listening to me?”

“Not going home, ruining your life, explained to your mom, and visiting after New Year’s. Bananas?”

“ _You_ are bananas, Ambrose.”

“B-a-n-a-n-a-s,” Dean agreed. 

Seth got up, took hold of Dean’s shirt collar, and attempted to lift him from the carpet. He gave up after he discovered very quickly that Dean’s primary tactic depended on doing his best imitation of Jell-O, and also that Dean was much heavier than he looked. 

“Fine. Inhale all of the dirt and dust and whatever, then. I can do it too, you know.” Seth stretched out next to him and pressed his rather larger nose into the carpet. “Wow, this is really not comfortable.”

“No one said you had to do it,” Dean told the floor.

“Well you’re doing it.”

“Y’ever hear that one about jumping off bridges, Seth?”

“Many times. Now shut up, I’m trying to breathe.”

Eight minutes passed in silence, and Seth actually couldn’t believe he was still doing this, laying on his living room floor with his face smashed into the carpet and the fibres tickling his nose. He reflected again that his life had turned very weird since Dean had wandered into it. 

“Okay. So. If we did do the thing, we could put a spending cap on gifts,” he suggested, because talking would prevent him from thinking too hard about the absurdity of their current positions. “Or we could just do dinner.”

“A spending cap of four dollars?”

“I was thinking more like fifty.”

“I’d have to do a lot of panhandling to make forty-six more dollars in five days,” Dean pointed out.

“Who said anything about panhandling?”

“Well, how else you want me to make money?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something that’s not panhandling,” Seth told him. “Also, fuck this, I’m getting up.”

“I knew you couldn’t hack it!” Dean said gleefully, rolling over and climbing to his feet. Seth glared at him.

“Did you do that just to get me on the floor with you?”

“Nah. But once you got down, I figured I’d see how long you could last.” Dean smirked. Seth rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch, back into his previous position. Dean curled up against him. “Wait, you mentioned food while we were down there.”

“I mentioned several things.”

“Right, but food is the main thing. Focus, Seth. Talk to me about food.”

“Oh baby, give me that gravy?” Seth quipped, and Dean hit him with a pillow. “I had no idea food was your equivalent of dirty talk.”

“It is not,” Dean protested. “I’m just a fan of food. A food enthusiast, if you will.”

“To be honest, I have no idea how the food is even gonna work,” Seth admitted. “I’ve never cooked a turkey before.”

“There’s turkey involved?!” 

“Have you never-” Seth glanced at Dean, then shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, there’s turkey involved. Well, with my family there is. Some people make ham, or goose, but my family always does turkey.”

“I got chased across a park by a goose once. I thought turkey was for Thanksgiving.” 

“Of course you did. Turkey is for Christmas too.” Seth was just used to these multi-topic conversations by now. When you lived with Dean, you got used to tangents really damn fast.

“Gooses are mean motherfuckers,” Dean informed him, nosing further into Seth’s neck, his hand resting on Seth’s flat belly. Seth suppressed a shiver of desire and turned his mind back to the safer territory of food.

“I’m sure they are. I don’t know how the two of us will manage to eat an entire turkey, but-”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Excuse me?” He peered down at Dean. “A challenge for what?”

“You don’t think I can eat a whole turkey?”

“I never said that,” Seth argued, but Dean was shaking his head.

“I will eat the whole turkey. I accept this challenge.”

“I never challenged you!” Seth told him, but he knew that once Dean had something in his head,  
he wasn’t going to back down. “But fine, eat the whole turkey. Assuming I manage to cook it without fouling it up.”

“Turkeys are poultry, Seth.” Dean was falling asleep, but Seth was pretty sure he’d heard that clearly.

“I… never said they weren’t?”

“Fowl…”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, I’m going to bed.” He was not getting into a pun war with a mostly asleep Dean Ambrose at three o’clock in the morning. Seth wriggled out from under Dean and threw the blanket over him as Dean cuddled into the pillow. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dean.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally another chapter, although this one is kind of short.

Dean flipped up his collar against the wind as he left the third store in under an hour, a saleswoman glaring daggers into his back. Fuck em. Maybe he didn’t look like any great shakes, and maybe he didn’t have any money, but they didn’t have to look at him like he was dog shit on their shoes.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pocket and shuffled off down the street. He still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get the money for Seth’s gift, but he’d figured he could at least check around a few stores, try to get an idea of what to buy. Apparently not, since everything was way the fuck out of his price range and all the stores were weirdly cluttered and he had to spend the entire time being followed around by suspicious salespeople and trying not to knock anything over.

He stopped in at the convenience store on the corner to buy cigarettes when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he found himself being steered roughly outside and into an alley by someone he’d hoped to not run into again.

Manny forced him down to his knees, looming over him. The guy was big, probably twice Dean’s weight even though he was shorter, covered in tattoos and strong as an ox. “Y’owe me money, son. You were short on the last run you did for me, remember? I dunno where you thought you were gonna disappear to. You had to know I’d find you eventually.” 

“Never tried to disappear,” Dean muttered. “I was in the hospital.” 

“For three weeks? Bullshit. You tried to run.”

“Well, I didn’t do a very good job then, did I? Since I’m still in town and all,” Dean snapped back, which earned him a hard thump on the side of his head that knocked him sideways into the brick wall of the 7-11. 

“Don’t get smart with me, boy.” 

Boy. This guy was two years older than Dean, at most. He scowled up at his former dealer. “What do you want me to do? I gave you all the money I fuckin had, I ain’t got nothin left.”

“You can work it off,” Manny growled. “You remember how to work, right?”

“I can’t-” Dean found his head being pinned to the ground, his face squishing into the slush and something unidentifiable that was leaking from a nearby Dumpster. “Manny, I don’t do that any more.”

“You’re gonna start doin it again. Unless you wanna wind up back in the fuckin hospital.” Manny hauled Dean to his feet and shoved him against the Dumpster. Dean winced as the hooks gouged into his back through his jacket. “That’s an option too. You owe me five hundred.”

“What the fuck, there’s no way I owe you that much. I gave you everything I owed,” Dean protested, pushing back. Manny dealt him a solid punch to the mouth, and Dean was back on his knees, spitting blood onto the pavement. He got a kick to the stomach that knocked the air out of him, and another to his kidneys that left him flat on his belly. Manny hauled him halfway back up, Dean’s hands scrabbling against Manny’s jeans, and punched him solidly again, once, twice, three, four times, before letting him drop again, gasping in pain.

“Bullshit man, you know what you owe me, and you’re gonna fuckin get it.”

“Fine. Fine!” Dean squirmed against the grip Manny had on his neck. “I’ll… I’ll figure something out, okay? I need a couple days.” 

“Two days. That’s it. If I have to come looking for you, you’re not gonna be walking ever again,” Manny hissed, rubbing Dean’s face into the brick like he was grating cheese before throwing him down and leaving him there, coughing and cursing. 

Dean pulled himself up once Manny was safely gone, leaning heavily on the wall, one hand rubbing at his bruised stomach, covered in all manner of unidentifiable substances, all of them disgusting. Well that was just fucking perfect. “Doesn’t this asshole have family to go home to?” he muttered, slowly stumbling toward the mouth of the alley.

~*~

Seth tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could write more easily. Mrs Enderman always, without fail, ordered two dozen insanely complex coffees for her 5:30 pm ceramics class- it was every Tuesday and Thursday- and Seth always, without fail, wound up making them. 

“Right, so four with whip, two decaf half-shot mochas, three- Jesus Christ almighty, oh no, not you, Mrs Enderman, I’ve just, uh, just had a bit of a shock. Sorry, uh, so that was three cinnamon spice lattes-” He twisted around to stare at Dean, who had just slid listlessly onto his usual stool at the counter, looking like he’d just crawled out of a car wreck. 

“What happened?” he mouthed, while Mrs Enderman kept listing away in his ear, his pen moving on autopilot as Dean waved him off. Stubborn prick. “Alright, Mrs Enderman, I’ll have those ready for you by five-fifteen. Yep, I’ll make sure Susie knows. Okay, bye now.” He hung up the phone and whipped around to face Dean, who was prodding his eye gingerly.

"What. Happened."

"Ran into an old friend in an alley," Dean mumbled, wincing. Seth reached for him, and Dean pulled away. "Not here."

"I just wanted to look." Seth bit his lip. "What smells like bad milk?"

"That would be my hair," Dean informed him, pulling a curl straight out from his forehead. "And I'm pretty sure there's puke somewhere on my clothes."

"Jesus. Who did this? We should report them, call the police-"

Dean let out a brittle laugh, his voice pitching higher than Seth had heard it in weeks. "You really think they're gonna give a shit that some homeless druggie fuck got the shit kicked out of him in an alley?"

“You’re not homeless, and you’re not a druggie. You are a fuck, though.” Seth started steaming milk to avoid having to look at Dean’s battered face. “But seriously, who hurt you?”

“S’not the first time, Seth.”

“I don’t care.” Seth started capping mochas. “I want to know.”

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his sticky hair, pulling it back with a grimace at the glop clinging to his fingers. “My dealer, okay?”

“Ex dealer.”

“Whatever, Seth. It was him, anyway.”

“Well, I still have that cop’s card, you could call him.”

“So the next time he finds me, he kills me?” Dean growled. Seth clattered the coffee pot he was holding onto the burner and faced Dean, hands on his hips, frowning deeply. Dean glared back. “Don’t give me that look. Did you hear what happened the last time one of my dealers got sent to jail? I had to come out here to get away from him.”

“I’m just saying, talk to the cop. You should be able to walk down the street without getting beaten up.”

“Technically, it was in an alley. He says I owe him money.”

“Money?”

“Yeah. Half a G.”

“Five _hundred_ dollars? Dean, what were you thinking?”

“What do you mean, what was I thinking? I ain’t got it, I never _had_ it.”

“Well, why didnt you tell him that?”

“You think I didn’t?!” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “Do you really think a meth dealer is going to sit and listen while I explain that actually, I _didn’t_ steal your money, and I have no idea who did? Can I point out that he was grinding my face into the pavement while I _tried_ to tell him that?” Dean dropped his head onto the counter with a thud. “Where’m I gonna get five hundred bucks?”

“Why should you have to get five hundred bucks? You didn’t take it.”

Dean glared at him, his left cheek still pressed to the counter. “Why do you think that matters?”

“So, what, you just, give him the money you don’t have? What’s gonna stop him from coming back for another five hundred? Or a thousand?”

Dean groaned. “I have no idea what to do, okay?”

“I think-”

“Don’t.” Dean held up a hand. “Don’t with the cops again.”

“I was going to say,” Seth interjected. “That you should go home, grab a shower, change your clothes, and come back so we can figure something out. I have to finish this order anyway.”

Dean slid off the stool and shuffled forlornly toward the door. At this rate, he was never gonna find Seth a Christmas present.

~^~

“Right, he’ll be back around six,” Seth said, cupping his hand over the phone receiver. “Uh huh, just don’t tell him I called you, okay? Okay. No problem. Yeah, good-bye.”

He hung up the phone and leaned against the wall, curling into himself, cupping his elbows in either palm. He was doing the right thing, he told himself. Dean would see that, wouldn’t he? He had to. Seth wasn’t doing this for shits and giggles, he was doing it because the sight of Dean earlier had caught him off guard and made him feel like he’d been punched in the throat. The chimes over the door jangled and he jerked to attention. It wasn’t Dean, and it wasn’t Detective Henderson, but he knew they were coming as he crossed over to the counter.

He was cleaning the cappuccino machine to have something to do with his hands when Dean arrived back, damp-haired and wearing clean clothes, although he still looked like he’d been put through a meat grinder. He slid back onto the stool and stared at Seth. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. You want a doughnut?” Seth crammed his hands in his apron so that Dean wouldn’t see them trembling. “Art just made a bunch of those chocolate ones you like.”

“Uh. Sure?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re actin real weird, Seth.”

“I said I’m fine.” Seth shoved the doughnut across the counter and retreated back to the wall to stand next to the phone. “I’m just… I’m fine. So, you showered.”

“You told me to.” Dean attacked his doughnut with vigor. “And, y’know, the whole thing where I was covered in garbage juice.”

“Right. Not a great aesthetic.” The door chimed again and Seth felt his heart stop and then begin racing. “I, uh, I have to go check on the oven.” He scurried into the kitchen, leaving a bemused Dean behind with Detective Henderson coming up behind him.

“Dean Ambrose?” 

Dean jumped, half-spinning on his seat, cracking his elbow on the counter. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Detective Henderson. My partner and I came by here looking for you the other day.” He offered his hand, and Dean stared at it like it was a live cobra, opting to wipe crumbs off his chin instead of shaking. “We were hoping you could offer us some information.”

“I ain’t a narc, man.” Dean gestured to his face. “This is what I got for walking down the street. You think I want to spend my life in a wheelchair cause I talked to you?”

“You know you can file a report about that.” 

“What the fuck would be the point of that?” Dean snapped. “Look, what do you want?”

“Just to ask you some questions.”

“I think you should talk to him,” Seth interjected, having crept back out of the kitchen, twisting a rag in his fingers. Dean scowled at him, before realization dawned on his face.

“You son of a bitch.” He jumped to his feet. “I told you- I fuckin _told you_ that I _didn’t want_ to talk to the police, and you fuckin called him anyway, didn’t you? _Didn’t you?_ ”

Seth winced. “I… yeah, kinda. It was only because I’m scared for you though.”

Henderson was watching them like they were a game of tennis on TV, his dark eyes travelling back and forth. “You did the right thing, son. It’s important that we get this guy off the streets, and we think that Dean can help us do that.”

“ _You stay the fuck out of this_ ,” Dean snarled, rounding on the detective, who stiffened. Seth hustled around the counter and stepped in between them.

“Look, it’s alright, Detective. Dean, calm down. Don’t scream at the _police officer_ ,” he said sternly. “Please, will you just talk to him? You can yell at me later, if you want to, just please, talk to him?” He lowered his voice. “If you won’t do it for you, will you do it for me?”

Dean glowered at him, clenching and unclenching his fists, looking like he was ready to spit venom. “I trusted you.”

“I know,” Seth said, his voice soft. “But I worry about you. Look at your face, Dean. I don’t want this to happen again.”

“If I talk to him, will you promise to get off my ass about anything to do with my fuckin dealer?”

“I…”

“Promise me.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“And don’t think I’m gonna fuckin forget what you did, either,” Dean growled. He turned his back on Seth and jerked his head at Henderson. “Over at the back table. I’ll talk to ya.”

Seth sank back against the wall for the third time that day, heaving a sigh. He knew this wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but at least Dean was talking to the detective, no matter what the hell happened when they both got home. Seth didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew that Dean was pissed, and that there were going to be some fireworks. He went back to work, doing his best impression of a deaf man, pointedly ignoring what was going on in the corner.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How in the blue fucking HELL did I manage to write two chapters in one day?! I spent like a week fighting with chapter nine, and then ten and eleven just BAM! Right out of me.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS TOTAL AND COMPLETE PORN, but there's a little domestic violence right at the start. I'm not making excuses for Dean, but I'm giving the reasoning that violence is all he knows, and so that's how he reacts.
> 
> He and Seth are gonna have a chat about that at some point, I assure you.
> 
> But seriously, just smut. Smut smut smutty smut smut.

Seth actually hadn’t expected Dean’s reaction to involve him being slung forcefully over the dining room table and leapt upon by a screaming maniac, but here they were. He flailed, trying to fend Dean off, and got a wild fist to the jaw for his trouble. “Oh my god, Dean, _calm down_.” He shoved Dean off, pushing him into the wall and causing the dishes in the cupboards to rattle from the force.

Dean straightened up, wild-eyed and panting, his jacket slipping off one shoulder. “You _betrayed me_ , Seth! I fuckin trusted you, and you called that fuckin pig out after I told you to leave it alone.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I thought I was doing the right thing.” 

“By trying to get me _killed_?”

“You’re not gonna get killed. I won’t let you get killed.”

“You gonna be my bodyguard? What, Seth, what did you think was gonna happen? You could just fix everything about me? _I’m not fixable!_ ” Dean screamed.

“Well I thought you were!” Seth screamed back. He slammed his fists on the table Dean had just thrown him over. “I thought I was helping.”

“I don’t need your fucking help, Seth. I was doing _fine_ , just fine, on my fuckin own.”

“Yeah, real fuckin fine, that time you _almost fucking died from a meth overdose_ ,” Seth yelled, his voice going hoarse and scratchy. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you ever gonna let that go? You should have just let me die in that goddamned bathroom, at least then you wouldn’t be able to hold it over my head that you’re my fuckin saviour or whatever,” Dean snarled.

“I couldn’t let you die, Dean.” Seth slumped down into the chair, all the fight gone out of him all of a sudden. “I care about you too much.”

“You don’t care about me,” Dean said bitterly. “You care about your fuckin redemption complex. I’m just helping you facilitate it.”

“No. No, that’s not even close to what this is.” Seth laid his arm over the back of the chair, resting his chin on it. “Will you just look at me? Please?”

Dean gave him a grudging look. Seth reached out his other hand, motioning Dean closer. “Come here. I’m sorry about what I did, I really am. I really didn’t mean to hurt you this much.”

Dean allowed himself to be pulled down onto Seth’s lap, plucking at a thread on his sleeve. “I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know. You have every right to be. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have just called him and let him just show up without warning you. I was just thinking of how you looked earlier-” Seth touched a bruise on Dean’s cheek gently. “And I got scared. I just wanted to help, and that was the only way I could think of to do it.”

“I get what you meant to do,” Dean mumbled. He scuffed his shoe along the worn carpet. “Sorry for hitting you, by the way.”

“Oh.” Seth touched the graze on his jaw. Yeah, that was an issue. He reminded himself that Dean had never known anything but violence, and neglect, and abuse, and that he needed to learn how to not use his fists to solve all his problems. But it was still an issue. “I’ll let this one go, okay? But no more hitting.”

“No more hitting,” Dean agreed, like a pre-schooler being taken to task for slapping a classmate. 

Seth tangled his fingers in Dean’s curls, tugging gently to get his attention. “Are we okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll have to see.” Dean nibbled at his thumb. “Is there a even a we? I thought you didn’t want this to be a thing.”

“No, well… I don’t know.” Seth watched Dean’s foot trace circles on the floor. “I mean… I don’t know, _is_ there a we?”

“I don’t know,” Dean echoed. “Is there?”

Seth sighed. “I’m just worried about fucking up your whole recovering… thing. That’s… that’s all that’s holding me back.”

“So you want it to be a thing?” Dean looked… hopeful? 

Seth reached up to pull him down into a searing kiss, hoping that would be answer enough. Dean shifted around, trying to straddle Seth without breaking the kiss, wanting to keep the closeness. He succeeded, somewhat, although he wound up in a sort of side-straddling position, enough to wrap his arms around Seth’s neck. He could feel Seth’s arms around his waist, sliding up under his shirt, and he pulled back, nuzzling into Seth’s neck. “Seth?”

“Mm?” Seth gazed up at him with those meltingly brown eyes, his lips red from the kiss. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin. Well. Somethin.”

“What’s up, baby boy?” Seth tugged gently at a curl that had fallen over Dean’s forehead. He wasn’t expecting what Dean said next, but it went straight to his dick, already half-hard.

“Take me to bed?”

Seth inhaled sharply. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” Dean toyed with the strings of Seth’s hoodie. “I’m sure.”

“Is, uh… is this you forgiving me?”

“Nope.” Dean tugged Seth into another kiss. “This is me wanting you.”

“I should have guessed it wouldn’t be that easy.” Seth ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, trailing them down his bruised cheek and jaw, feather-light. “You still make me all stupid, you know that?”

“Uh huh. I know. But the bed?”

“All right. Are we at least done fighting?”

“For now.” Dean slid off of Seth’s lap and waited, suddenly shy, which was not really something he was used to feeling. Not without covering it with bluster and bravado, anyway. Seth got up, trying and failing to adjust his pants discreetly, and took Dean’s hand, pulling him along.

“You comin?”

“Not yet.” Dean smirked at him, but allowed himself to be led to the bedroom.

“You’re such a smartass,” Seth said, curling his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him down to press their lips together again as Dean’s strong arms wrapped around his waist. 

“Thought you liked that about me,” Dean murmured when they pulled apart. “And my smarts. And my ass.”

“It is a very nice ass,” Seth conceded, moving his hands down to cup it. He drew his fingers around to the front to unbuckle Dean’s belt, slipping his hands into his jeans and pushing Dean’s boxer briefs down to cup the warm length he found there. “And… a very nice dick.”

“You’ve never even seen my dick,” Dean answered, blinking lazily down at him. 

“I’m gonna in about five seconds though,” Seth retorted, his fingers popping the button and unzipping Dean’s fly before drawing his cock out reverently. “Yes. This is very nice.”

“You like that?” Dean tangled his fingers in Seth’s long hair, smirking as Seth nodded eagerly. “Y’wanna get down on your knees and show me how much?”

Seth bit Dean’s ear sharply before dropping to his knees, his brown eyes tracking up the length of Dean’s body as Dean hauled his T-shirt and hoodie off over his head, the motion making his cock bob enticingly. Seth swallowed as those blue, blue eyes refocused on him, and those hands wound into his hair again. “About this much,” he said, and leaned forward, his tongue slipping under the head as he took Dean’s dick into his mouth.

Dean fisted his hands into Seth’s hair, tilting his head back with a groan as Seth started teasing his foreskin with his tongue. “Yeah, baby. Show me that you love my cock.”

Seth hummed in agreement, bobbing back and forth, sliding his hands up Dean’s thighs to grip his ass through his jeans as he sucked, his cheeks hollowing out with the effort. He looked up to meet Dean’s eyes again, loving that half-lidded expression, that easy grin, loving that he was the one who put it on Dean’s face. 

Dean’s hand moved down to cup Seth’s jaw, guiding him, showing him how to please. “Like that, baby. Just like that, come on.”

Seth pulled back, using his finger to break the long string of saliva connecting his mouth to Dean’s cock, ignoring Dean’s whine of protest. “Don’t wanna make you come like this.”

Dean pulled him to his feet and kissed him again. “So how d’you wanna make me come, then? Cause my dick’s gettin lonely without your mouth on it.”

Seth reached down and stroked it firmly. “From my dick inside of you. You okay with that?” He bit his lip, his other hand curled around Dean’s neck. “I mean, I’ve never, uh… like I’ve been with guys, but never like-”

“It’s fine,” Dean whispered, pulling at the hem of Seth’s T-shirt. “I’m okay with having you fuck me til I scream.” 

Seth leaned back to let Dean pull his shirt off, reaching down to unsnap his own jeans and shove them off, kicking them to the side and hooking his socks off with his toes. Dean’s jeans followed suit and Seth shoved him down onto the bed, straddling him and running his fingers over the purple marks from that morning. “Look at this.” He bent to kiss each one, slowly. “Let me make em better.”

“Mm, I think my cock is bruised too, babe.”

“I dunno, it looked okay right before I started sucking it,” Seth murmured, lowering his head to lap gently at Dean’s nipples, drawing them into hard peaks and making Dean wriggle under him. “How d’you wanna do this?”

“Don’t care. Just want you in me,” Dean groaned. Seth’s fingers dug into his hip, turning him gently. He rolled willingly, arching his ass up against Seth’s flat belly. “Hurry.”

“Mm, not yet.” Seth dragged his tongue down Dean’s spine, peppering his skin with kisses. “I think you’ll like what I’ve got in mind, so relax.”

Dean hissed gently as Seth moved over his damaged kidneys, but he made no move to stop him. His breath hitched slightly as Seth’s thumbs spread his ass, and a low moan rippled out of him as he felt the wetness of Seth’s tongue press against his hole. “Jesus, Seth.”

“Told you you’d like it.” Seth grinned and shifted forward again, drawing another prolonged moan from Dean as his tongue lapped a trail of saliva up the cleft of his ass. “I don’t have any lube, I gotta make you ready for my dick somehow, right?”

“I’m ready for your dick now,” Dean insisted, curling his fingers into the sheets as Seth delved back in. He could feel saliva running down his balls, that’s how fucking wet Seth’s mouth was, all warm tongue and soft lips and Dean knew he was ready, so ready to be fucked. “Baby please.”

Seth drew back slightly, sliding a finger, two fingers into Dean, and he nodded. “Yeah, you’re ready. Come here.” He pulled Dean up against his chest, biting at his neck, leaving suck marks. “Let me grab something.” 

Dean keened softly as Seth’s warmth pulled away, but he was back seconds later, foil rattling in his hand and then the tip of his dick was pushing slowly into Dean, and Dean dropped his head back against Seth’s shoulder with a moan as Seth slid all the way home, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this. “Fuck me, baby.”

“I am, sweetheart.” Seth pulled out and pushed back in, biting Dean’s neck again. “You like it? My dick inside you?”

“Hngh,” Dean agreed, reaching back to grab Seth’s ass, hauling him in closer. Seth’s hands gripped Dean’s hips in response as he moved in him, eliciting sharp gasps with every push and pull of their bodies together.

Jesus, Dean felt so good. Seth was rapidly losing his language capabilities as he fucked into Dean’s willing body, sweat trickling down between them, sticking his hair to his forehead. He shifted a hand from Dean’s hip to his cock, his thumb drawing light circles over the exposed head of Dean’s dick, teasing the foreskin back the rest of the way.

“Fuck, Seth, fuck, do that… do it again.” Dean was thrusting into Seth’s fist, aching for more friction, needing to match the fire inside him.

“Guh,” was all Seth could come up with, but his hand knew what to do, working at Dean’s cock as he fucked up into him, harder and faster. “Nnk” and “Dean” tumbled out of his mouth, and then he felt Dean clench up around him.

“Fuck, Seth, fuck, I’m coming, baby, I’m coming-” And there were hot spurts over Seth’s hand, Dean falling forward onto all fours as his body shuddered with orgasm. Seth renewed his thrusts, slamming deep into Dean, screwing him for all he was worth, and then Seth was coming too, his fingers clawing into Dean’s hips, and Dean was biting him, _actually fucking biting him_ , right on the wrist, the closest part of Seth’s body to his mouth.

They collapsed into a sweaty heap, Seth sliding free of Dean, their skin sticking together, and this was too soon, Seth knew it was too soon, but Dean was under him, still gasping, and sweat was cooling on their tangled limbs and it felt right, and they could deal with Dean's recovery, and the cops, and their fight, and how he hurt Dean later. They could deal with the world tomorrow. Tonight was for them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we get into the aftermath of what happened last chapter, with some mentions of Seth's past, this time.

Dean was sitting up against the headboard when Seth woke up the next morning, rolling Jeremy’s bubble between his palms, occasionally bringing it to his face for a moment. Seth blinked up at him through the veil of hair covering his eyes. 

“Are you talking to that fish?”

“Mhm.” Dean rolled the capsule down the flat plane of his belly. “Sometimes we chat.”

Seth sat up with a low groan. Of course Dean engaged in discourse with the fish. He flipped his hair back out of his eyes. “Wait. Was he watching us?” 

Dean raised the bubble to his eye. “I dunno. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“He… he wouldn’t tell you. Right.” Seth pushed back the covers and got up, his back cracking loudly as he stretched. “I’m going to go have a shower. You joining me?”

“Nah. Later. Might take m’fish for a walk.”

Seth could just imagine Dean tying a thread around Jeremy and dragging him down the street, because wouldn’t that be just like Dean? “Well, you two have fun with that.”

“Oh, we will,” Dean told him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rising as Seth left for the bathroom. “Fishes need lots of exercise.”

Seth shook his head and closed the bathroom door behind him. It wasn’t until he was wiping off the steamy mirror to trim his beard that he noticed the bruise on his jaw again. He tilted his head under the harsh bathroom lighting, running a finger over the graze. This was definitely something he was going to need to talk to Dean about. Last night, he’d been too shocked to really process it, and then, well- they’d been busy. 

He brushed his hair back from his face, running opening lines through his head. The best thing he was coming up with was “Is this going to be a regular thing?” but that didn’t seem like the greatest way to approach a potential domestic-violence scenario. 

“Wait, is domestic violence really the way I want to think about this?” Seth asked his reflection. He set his brush down with a groan. “Why does this have to be so complicated?” Why did Dean have to hit him in the first place? Why did Dean have to react to everything with physical violence? Seth buried his face in his towel with a groan. “Do I really want to make this an issue?” 

It was already an issue, he knew that. The question was whether he wanted to bring it up to Dean. Well, he _did_ , and he also wanted to strangle himself with his towel, but that wasn’t going to be an option. “I’ll just bring it up casually.” He started digging for his trimmer. “Casually, yeah. ‘Hey Dean, why’d you punch me?’ Or ‘hey Dean, you know punching people isn’t a great way to solve problems, right?’ Ugh.” He tapped the trimmer a few times, loosening old hairs. He’d told himself seven years ago that he wouldn’t put up with anything like this ever again, and yet here he was. Older but not wiser, apparently.

 

“One, one-twenty, one-forty... Shit. Not even half way there.” Dean riffled the bills he was holding one more time and slumped against the glass window of a storefront. He’d been all over the city in the last three hours, and he was running the hell out of time. He crossed over to corner and peered up at the clock there. 12:30. He could make the lunch rush, if he hurried. That’d be good for at least another hundred. He stuffed the bills into the inside pocket of his jacket- Jeremy would guard it- and hurried back across the street.

 

Well, he’d done five loads of laundry- the sheets would have needed washing even if Dean didn’t have the worst night sweats imaginable- and cleaned the bathroom and kitchen. It was nearly time to go to work, and Dean still wasn’t back. Seth spread the duvet over the bed and sat down on it heavily. He’d hoped to have this conversation sooner, rather than later, and now he was going to get to spend his entire shift dwelling on it. It, and the rest of what had happened yesterday, and worrying about where the hell Dean was, and why the fuck did he even care where Dean was, it wasn’t like he owned the guy. They just… they weren’t a thing. 

“Definitely not a thing. This isn’t a thing, and I’m not going to spend all day worrying about it. He’s a grown up, he can take care of himself.” Dean himself had pointed out that he’d been taking care of himself since long before Seth came into the picture, the incident a couple of weeks ago notwithstanding. Dean didn’t _need_ Seth. Seth didn’t _need_ Dean. They barely knew each other, if Seth was being totally honest.

But he did like having Dean around.

 

Two hundred and sixty bucks by four pm wasn’t really a bad day’s work, Dean figured. He’d had to step up his game a little bit, but he was nearly there. If he could make this same amount tomorrow, he’d still have time to find Seth something for Christmas. What, he had no idea, but he’d settle on something.

He crammed his money back in his pocket and headed down toward the coffee shop.

 

Seth kicked the back door open, backing out with both hands full of bulging trash bags- someone was going to need to have a talk with Amanda about actually cleaning up after her shift- and turned around to see Dean on his knees in the filthy snow, in front of some business-looking dude, hands on the guy’s bare hips while he sucked him off. “ _Dean?!_ ”

“Mmph?” Dean pulled back, turning wide blue eyes on Seth, who let the bags slide out of his slack grip. “Seth-”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?!”

“Uh, what’s it look like?”

“Hey, fucko, if you’re not gonna finish, I want my money back.” Business-guy was hiking his pants back up, and Dean growled, thrusting a crumpled twenty back at the guy, who snatched it and took off up they alley, calling over his shoulder,“Asshole.”

“Yeah, same to you,” Dean snapped, rubbing at his jaw. He turned his attention back to Seth. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, the fact that you’re blowing some random dude in the alley behind my work?” Seth shouted. Dean took a step back, blinking in genuine confusion.

“I need money, Seth. I gotta get that five hundred by tomorrow, remember?”

“I could have _written you a cheque_!” Seth’s voice was getting higher in pitch, his hands trembling violently.

“How many drug dealers you know that take cheques, Seth? Besides, you ain't got five hundred to just give away."

“That’s not… that isn’t the point, Dean.” Seth leaned heavily against the door he’d just exited, pressing his cheek against the scratched and icy metal, trying to control his breathing. 

“Hey, c’mon, it doesn’t mean anything-”

“Doesn’t mean anything? Do I need to remind you that we were having _sex_ not even a day ago?”

“And? That doesn’t have anything to do with this.” Dean gestured vaguely. “That’s different. This is business.”

“ _Business_? Business is, like, catering, Dean. Business is software development. Business is not _sucking the dicks of strangers for cash _.” Seth slid down the wall into a crouch and put his face into his hands. “I don’t know how you can think that this is okay.”__

__“You thought calling that detective was okay,” Dean countered, coming closer. “S’just a way to make quick cash. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”_ _

__“Not a big deal. Right,” Seth scoffed. “The difference is that I was trying to _help_ you, and you’re... doing this.” He waved at nothing in particular. Dean crouched down in front of him and reached out for Seth’s hands._ _

__“You’re really bugged, huh?”_ _

__“You think?” Seth glared at him. “Did you genuinely think I wouldn’t be?” He could read utter confusion in Dean’s clear blue eyes and sighed. “You genuinely thought I wouldn’t be.”_ _

__“Well… no.” Dean scratched at his neck. “Like I said, this ain’t nothin’. Didn’t mean to hurt you, Seth.”_ _

__“I’m not hurt,” Seth fibbed, averting his eyes from Dean’s searching gaze, opting instead to stare at the corpse of a dead rat, half-buried in grey slush, his entire body trembling as he fought to control his emotions. He pushed his hair back behind his ears with ice-cold fingers, curling in on himself._ _

__“Don’t lie to me.” Dean cupped Seth’s face in his hands. “C’mere.”_ _

__“If you legitimately think that I’m going to kiss you after where your mouth just was-”_ _

__Dean looked away, abashed. “Sorry.” He met Seth’s endless brown eyes again. “Why’s it every time we manage to go forward, one of us fucks somethin up?”_ _

__“I don’t know,” Seth replied, climbing to his feet. “But I need to go back to work. Look, I don’t… I’d rather if you didn’t-”_ _

__“Suck any more cock?” Dean finished for him. Seth nodded, rubbing at his cheek nervously as he waited for the explosion. Dean hated to be told what he could or couldn't do. He wasn’t expecting the nonchalant answer he got._ _

__“What about yours?”_ _

__“Oh my god, Dean.” Seth rolled his eyes and picked up the trash bags he’d dropped, sidling past Dean to throw them away._ _

__“So your dick is _not_ off limits, then?”_ _

__“No,” Seth told him, pulling open the door. “My dick is not off-limits.” He leaned against the door. “Look, maybe you should call Detective Henderson. Don’t give me that look. Maybe he can figure out a way to get you the money you need.”_ _

__Dean grumbled. He hated the idea of being paid to snitch even more than he hated selling his skills, such as they were. He had to admit, though, the idea of getting out completely, of never having to deal with Manny again, that was appealing. And it wasn’t like he was the only one- Henderson had referred to two or three others during their little chat in the coffee house._ _

__“If I call him, you gonna forgive me for this?”_ _

__Seth folded his arms across his chest and considered. “For this? Yes. But only because I believe you when you say you genuinely didn’t think about it.”_ _

__Dean shrugged. “Didn’t think about how you would feel about it, no. Just figured it was a way to make quick money, and I’ve done it before-”_ _

__“Wait, you’ve done it before? Just-” Seth stepped back down into the alley, letting the door swing shut behind him again. “Just blowjobs, or-” He could see Dean’s shoulders start to hunch, and knew the answer before he finished asking. “Oh, Dean.”_ _

__“Well, how d’you think I managed to pay for everything?”_ _

__“I thought you ran drugs,” Seth said quietly._ _

__“Not always.” Dean was staring a hole into the brick over Seth’s shoulder, his tongue doing its familiar rotation around his mouth, pushing out his lower lip. Seth felt like pulling him into a hug, but opted instead to just awkwardly pat Dean’s shoulder._ _

__“Alright, you know what, that’s, whatever. That was before.” Seth waved his hand, like doing that could banish everything that had happened previous to this moment. “Just call him, alright? And please, dear god, go home and brush your teeth. Actually, can you just take a shower?”_ _

__“I can take a shower, yeah.”_ _

__“Okay. Going back in now, before I get fired. And call that detective!”_ _

__Dean opened his mouth to protest, but the door was already swinging shut behind Seth, and he gave up. Flipping his collar up against the rapidly cooling wind, he headed back to the apartment._ _

__

__Jesus Christ almighty, how did he get himself into these things? Seth piled croissants into the display racks, which, while great at keeping his hands busy, gave him entirely too much time to think. He still hadn’t figured out a way to broach the subject of their fight the night before. The whole catching his…well, catching Dean giving some strange guy a blowjob had kind of side-tracked his thoughts for the last couple of hours._ _

__He did believe that Dean had truly not meant to hurt him- they hadn’t exactly established the boundaries of their whatever- and that Dean really had just thought of it as conducting business. He could forgive that, he supposed, loading up cheese croissants next to the plain ones, as long as it didn’t happen again. Seemed like his was forgiving a lot of things, lately, as long as they didn't happen again._ _

__“You wanna save me one of those?” Dean hopped onto his usual stool at the counter, swinging around in a slow arc to face Seth._ _

__“Yeah, sure.” Seth handed one up over the counter. “Where were you for so long? I thought you were only going home to shower.”_ _

__“I called the dude. Handyman or whatever.”_ _

__“Henderson. And?”_ _

__Dean flapped a piece of paper at Seth. “And he gave me a cheque for five hundred. Just left him like ten minutes ago."_ _

__“Just, uh, just gave it to you?”_ _

__“In exchange for information. All the information.” Dean made a face. “And they’re gonna overlook any, uh, related stuff.”_ _

__“So you’re not gonna be arrested for admitting to anything, basically.” Seth picked up the cheque and scrutinized it._ _

__“Basically,” Dean agreed, chomping into his croissant. “Y’think I could snag a doughnut to go along with this?”_ _

__“Swallow before you talk to me, sir. And yes, I will give you a doughnut.”_ _

__“Perfect.” Dean grinned around his mouthful of cheese and pastry, and Seth had to grin back. Dean always looked so damn happy when he was being fed, and his dimples were infectious._ _

__“So, you’re, uh, you’re good. You can pay the jerkwad, and, you know, cops’ll put him away and then you’ll be free.”_ _

__“I really don’t think it’s gonna be that easy,” Dean told him, turning his attention to the doughnut._ _

__“Well, we can _try_ to be optimistic about the situation. No, you can't have another one." -because Dean was looking at the display hopefully- "You eat too much junk food as it is."_ _

__"Hey, I'm in recovery," Dean protested. "I gotta get my weight up."_ _

__"If you want to bulk up, you can start coming to the gym with me. You've got muscle now, but we can improve on it."_ _

__"What, you don't like my body?"_ _

__"I'm pretty sure I proved last night that I do," Seth replied quickly, because Dean was getting defensive. He had so many buttons, it was hard for Seth to know what he could say without accidentally pushing one of them. Which reminded him. "And I want to talk to you, too. About this." He touched the ugly mark Dean had left on his jaw._ _

__"I said I was sorry." Dean gave him a reproachful look, like apologizing could make it all better. Like Seth was just supposed to forgive and forget. He could forgive, yes, but he wasn’t going to forget._ _

__"I know. But-" Seth took a breath; Dean would have to know at some point. "I went through this sort of shit before, years ago. I told myself then that if a guy ever hit me again, I'd be gone. I went through ten months of punches and apologies when I was twenty, and I'm not ever going to do that again.'_ _

__Dean chewed the inside of his cheek. Maybe Seth hadn't led such a charmed life, then. "So, what, you want me to go?"_ _

__"No. But you are never, ever going to hit me again," Seth told him firmly. "I don't care how pissed off you are, if you ever hit me again, your ass will be out of my life before you can blink. I will put up with a lot of shit, Dean, but not this."_ _

__Dean tapped the counter, nervousness suffusing his entire being. "I didn't think about it. I just... reacted." His hand delved into his jacket pocket, pulling out Jeremy, his usual resort when he was feeling like this, when the nasty voices in his head started to howl about how worthless he was. He'd never seen Seth look this stone-faced and implacable before. Knowing he caused Seth to look like that just gave the voices more to cast up to him._ _

__"I know. That's why I let it go last night. I understand that you've never... violence is all you know." Dean nodded, unconsciously. "And I want you to promise me that you're going to do your best to find an alternative to that."_ _

__"I..." Dean scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the fingers of his other hand spinning Jeremy's plastic capsule around on the counter, an outburst of anxious energy. "I don't really know how, Seth. I mean, I want... I want you to be able to, like, fuckin trust me and shit. That I won't hurt you. But I dunno how to do that. I just get mad and I punch shit."_ _

__"Try walking away. Try using your words. Hell, punch a fuckin wall if you need to, we can fix a hole. Just promise me that you won't ever hit me again."_ _

__Dean swallowed, looking up at Seth. What if he couldn't? What if he promised, and then immediately went back on it the next time he was angry with Seth? He knew Seth wouldn't tolerate him forever. The only constant in Dean's life was that everyone always left. Seth wouldn't be the exception, of that he was sure. Eventually, he would get tired of putting up with Dean. "I can't."_ _

__"You can't." Seth's tone was completely flat._ _

__"I can't," Dean repeated. "I won't fuckin lie to you, Seth. I never have. So I can't promise that I won't ever fuck up again, and if I do, fuck yeah, kick my ass out. I'd deserve it. But I can promise to try my best."_ _

__Seth considered that, moving away to serve a couple of customers, leaving Dean to stew before he came back and nodded. "I can accept that. But I'm completely serious. It doesn't matter how much I care about you, Dean. I will not hesitate to cut you out of my life if this happens again." He motioned to his bruised jaw. "Believe that."_ _

__“I believe it,” Dean said softly. “I mean, it’s not gonna be very long before you don’t want to be around me anyway, you ain’t gotta issue ultimatums.” He slid off his seat, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jacket, and shrugged. “I’m probably gonna fuck up, but I said I’d try, and I will. You don’t gotta threaten to kick me out, that’s gonna happen soon enough anyway.”_ _

__Seth blinked as Dean headed toward the door. He’d fully expected Dean to explode on him, and again, Dean had shocked him by not reacting as expected. He bowed his head and focused on the countertop for a moment. He knew he’d made the right decision in laying out exactly where he stood, and he was glad that Dean hadn’t exploded- the place was dead now, but the theatre across the street let out at nine, and he didn’t particularly want that crowd seeing him in a blazing row with Dean- but he wondered what was going to happen now._ _

__He believed that Dean _would_ try, but trying… trying wasn’t going to be enough. It wouldn’t matter how hard Dean strove to change, if he snapped, even once, that would be it. Seth knew he had feelings for Dean- what those feelings were, he wasn’t quite sure- but he’d promised himself that he would never go through another abusive relationship again, and he had to hold himself to that. _ _

__Even if that meant letting Dean go._ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13. Next one will be Christmas~
> 
> And probably posted closer to Christmas, because Jeremy's taking a little hiatus. 
> 
> Only through November, and possibly not the entire month. I'm doing NaNoWriMo, so I'll be channeling my creative energy into that- it's also an Ambrollins story, though!

Dean was curled up on the couch when Seth got home, two hours later than usual.

He'd stopped by the gym after work, needing the monotony of a workout to clear his mind, and lost track of time. Now it was three-thirty in the morning, he was sweaty and a little sore, and he was trying to creep around his own home in silence because apparently Dean couldn't just go to sleep in the bedroom like a normal person.

 _Probably better this way_ , he thought, snapping on the bathroom light and starting the shower. He'd told himself, numerous times, that Dean needed time to recover. The fact that every resolution he made went flying out the window as soon as Dean smiled at him had no bearing on that. Neither did the fact that Seth had kind of been hoping that he'd come home to find Dean asleep in his bed. Dean opting for the couch disappointed Seth more than he wanted to admit, which in turn irritated him.

“Screwing him was a mistake,” Seth muttered, stepping into the shower and reaching for his body wash. It wasn't precisely that he _regretted_ having sex with Dean, it was just that he'd had every intention of waiting until Dean was... what? More stable? On his own? Employed?

The first was unlikely in any case- Seth didn't think Dean had ever _been_ stable- the second wasn't something Seth was sure he wanted, and the third had to wait until Dean stopped the sweating and grinding of teeth, at least. Although that had been the plan for sleeping with him, too, and look how well that turned out.

Seth rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, patting himself down and winding the towel around his waist. He snagged another one to squeeze the water out of his long hair and wandered back out to the living room to find his phone. “Hey. I didn't wake you up, did I?”

Dean scrubbed at his eyes. “Kinda. Time's it?”

“Almost four, I think.” Seth sat down on the edge of the couch next to Dean's legs and checked his phone. “Yeah, it's five to.”

“Why you showerin at four am?”

“Went to the gym after work,” Seth explained, dangling his hands down between his knees, his smartphone swinging slowly from two fingers. “I just needed some time to think without anyone else there.”

Dean grunted in response, shifting into a sitting position. He watched a bead of water roll down Seth's shoulder and resisted the urge to reach over and lick it off. Probably not the best idea, not with how they'd left things last. He settled for propping his chin on his knee and watching Seth's profile.

The silence stretched out, until Seth finally had to break it. “Why are you on the couch?”

Dean blinked. “Because this is where I sleep?”

“I just figured, y'know-”

“That things would change after we fucked?”

“Yeah.” Seth shrugged. “I mean, I get it. This is probably better anyway.”

“I didn't think you'd really want me in your bed,” Dean replied quietly. “I mean- “ He bit off a yawn. “After earlier, I wasn't sure you'd even want me in your place. Thought about not coming back.”

“I told you, I want you here,” Seth insisted, although there wasn't much fire behind it. Maybe that would be for the best. He wouldn't need to worry about Dean's anger any more, or how much he ate, or what the hell Seth was going to do once Dean was healthy again. If Dean got healthy again. And it would definitely mean that Seth wouldn't have to fret about his own emotions any more, trying to sort out how he felt about the man sitting next to him now.

“You keep sayin that,” Dean agreed. “But it'd be easier for you if I took off.”

“It would,” Seth admitted. “But I'm sort of used to you, after the last few months. It's nice to have someone here when I get home from work. Someone that doesn't bark at me, anyway.”

“I could bark at you,” Dean pointed out. “And if I wasn't here, your life would be easier.”

“And you'd be dead.”

“Y'don't need to look after me, Seth.”

“Where would you go?”

“I dunno. Somewhere. Maybe out west.”

Seth swallowed thickly. “You're thinking of leaving completely, then?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded against his knee. “Cali, maybe. Arizona. Somewhere warm. I hate the cold anyway.”

“But uh...” Seth rubbed his arms, pimpled with gooseflesh, and realized that he was still in a towel. “Can we talk about this in a minute? I need clothes.”

“Sure.” Dean shrugged. “It can wait.” His eyes followed Seth until he disappeared into the bedroom, then turned down to the worn carpet. He'd been thinking about leaving for a while now- even before he met Seth- and this latest run in with Manny and the cops had just enforced that desire. He was pretty sure that would mean bailing on Seth, but if he was being honest, he didn't like how dependent he'd become on the guy anyway. For clothes, for food, for company. It wasn't something he was used to, wasn't something he was sure he'd ever get used to, and besides, Seth... Seth could do better.

Seth didn't need some homeless junkie dirtbag cluttering up his life, making cops show up at his work, and overdosing in the bathroom. Seth didn't need Dean costing him money, and he damn sure didn't need all the trouble that Manny could stir up. Seth might have confidence in the police, but Dean had dealt with cops before, and had never had much use for them.

“So, you want to leave, then.”

Seth sank back down on the couch, in pajama pants and a grey sweatshirt, his arms crossed over his stomach. “Just, uh, just take the fuck off, “thanks Seth, see ya never” and just bail?”

“Been thinking about it for a long time, Seth. This shit with Manny is just another reason. Believe me, you don't want that guy on your ass, and if he finds out I'm here, you'll regret that you ever met me.” Dean motioned to his face as evidence.

“Would me saying I don't want you to leave change your mind?” Seth bit down on his lip, hard, to stop himself tearing up. If Dean didn't want to stay, he didn't want to stay. “I mean, it's only been a couple weeks, you sure you can make it without, y'know... fallin back into it?”

“I don't know,” Dean admitted. “It's been hard. Like... real fuckin hard. Hungry, tired, moods all over the goddamn place. Can't focus on anything, can't even read. And it's getting worse. Thought it was supposed to get better, but it ain't. I just feel so shitty all of the time. I'm so fuckin angry, or I just don't care about anything. Least when I was fucked up, I was happy. I never feel happy, anymore, Seth.”

“You never mentioned.”

“You never asked.”

That was true, Seth realized. He hadn't really asked how Dean was doing, just taking it for granted that a place to sleep and food in his belly would be enough. “I... you're right. I've been more focused on how I've been feeling about you. That's shitty of me.” He shoved his hair back out of his face. “I told you I'd help you, and I'm doing a piss poor job.”

“I never expected help. From anyone. I learned a long time ago that expecting things from people just ends badly.” Dean shrugged. “If I'm gonna do this, I'll do it on my own.”

“In California?”

“Maybe not yet,” Dean allowed. He could see the tension flow out of Seth's shoulders, and realized that, for whatever reason, Seth really did want him to stay. “Told you I'd do the Christmas shit with ya, didn't I?”

“Yeah. And then you'll take off.” Seth picked himself up off the couch, suddenly exhausted. “I'm goin to bed.”

 

He wasn't sure how much later it was- long enough for him to fall asleep, anyway- when Dean slid into bed next to him, curling up warm against his back. Seth lifted his head partway, blinking in confusion as strong arms wrapped around his waist. Dean's cold nose against his neck woke him up a little more, enough to catch Dean's raspy voice whispering,”I'm stayin with you, Seth.”

“Nh?” Seth pressed his body back against Dean's, one hand slipping under the covers to rest on Dean's, folded across Seth's midsection, possessive. “Promise?”

“Til you don't want me anymore.” Dean nuzzled into the hollow of Seth's neck; he figured he'd be in California by February, if it even took that long. He could give Seth this much. He would stay until Seth got tired of him.

“S'good.” Seth flopped back against the pillow and was asleep again in seconds.

Dean hated this alley.

He was used to alleys and had no strong feelings on them as a rule, but this one in particular didn’t bring up good memories. He’d run down it way too many times, trembling with need, jogging up rusted steel steps with crumpled fives and twenties in his fist. 

Dean sidestepped a broken shipping pallet, hoping this would be the last time he ever had to come down here, with its rusted fire escapes, graffiti covering every inch of brick, Dumpsters overflowing with broken trash bags, and always, the stink of the river.

He lifted a fist and banged on the door of the dilapidated house he’d visited way too many damn times. It was opened by a frizzy-haired blonde woman, white and rail-thin with deep circles under her eyes. “Manny around?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and stepped aside. Dean followed her, his nose crinkling at the smell of trash, unwashed bodies and cat shit. The place was forever overflowing with ratty-looking, skinny cats, their eyes constantly running or stuck shut. And how many nights had he spent here, he wondered, bombed out of his mind, lying on the stained carpet and listening to drunk, high-as-kites junkies fight and fuck and scream?

With any luck, he was done with this place, and all the people that came here. 

He stepped over a cat- dead, maybe; it wasn’t moving, at any rate- and came face to face with Manny, who dropped down into an ancient recliner and gestured him forward, demanding. 

“Got my money?”

“Yeah.” Dean dug it out of his jeans pocket and held it out. “Had to work for it- like old times- but it’s all there.” He watched Manny flip through the bills with greasy fingers, and the welts on his face seemed to be throbbing again. “That’s it, then. I don’t owe you anything else, so I’m out. I’m done.”

“Yeah, right,” Manny snorted. “You know how many worthless fucks just like you have told me that? You’ll come crawling back. Most do, and you ain’t tough enough to make it. Now get the fuck out of here, y’useless sack of shit.”

Dean bit back a retort- he wasn't’ afraid of another beating, but he knew Seth would be upset if he came back with more hurts than he’d left with- and withdrew without replying. That cat was definitely dead, he thought, stepping back over it. He was like ninety-five percent sure it wasn’t breathing. Shame, Dean was fond of cats. He wondered how long it had been lying there, and made a face, instantly deciding that he’d rather not know.

He took a deep gulp of frosty air once he’d escaped the fetid interior of the house. It was only a little after one pm, he still had time to attempt to figure out what the fuck to buy Seth for Christmas. It wasn’t like they’d discussed it, or anything. Just bullshitting after Seth got home from work, or before he left, or at the coffeehouse, chatting about mutual interests, hobbies- Dean didn’t have any, but he thought he might cultivate one or two- movies they liked, shit like that. 

He figured he could glean something out of all of that. They’d known each other for three, four months now, they were fucking, hell, they were living together. Surely he could figure out something to get Seth.

 

“Perfect,” Seth said to no one in particular, sitting back on his heels and surveying his handiwork. He’d never been any great shakes at wrapping gifts, but as he looked at the three small packages, he thought he’d done alright. It was just gonna get torn off in a couple of days anyway. He shifted Kevin off the wrapping paper rolls and started to gather them up as Dean’s key rattled in the door. “Hey.”

“Hm.” Dean had something stuffed under his jacket. Seth cocked his head.

“You go Christmas shopping today?”

“Uh, yeah. You can’t see, though.”

Seth held up a tube. “I’ve got wrapping paper.”

“Um. Okay.” Dean shuffled toward the bedroom, hands clutching his purchases to his chest under his jacket. “Is there, like, technique involved? Cause I dunno how to do that.”

“Er, well, my mom taught me.” Seth shrugged. “I guess we could find a box or something. I can show you how to do it.”

“Can I put this stuff down, first?”

“Yeah, just tell me where I’m not allowed to look.”

“ ‘m not tellin you, you’re gonna look.”

“I won’t look,” Seth protested, but Dean was shaking his head as he went into the bedroom. Seth got up to go look for a box, and when Dean came back, he was settled in the middle of the living room again, with a small array of different sized boxes. 

“We’re wrappin granola bars?”

“Hey, it’s a box. Now come sit.” Dean folded his legs under him obediently and leaned forward, blue eyes intent. “You gotta make sure you have enough paper, is the first thing.” He settled the box of granola bars in the centre of the paper he’d unrolled. “I usually fold it over like this before I cut anything…”

Dean frowned at the lumpy packages in front of him; Seth’s lesson hadn’t stuck,apparently. The brightly coloured paper was cut crooked, there was tape stuck in places Dean was pretty sure weren’t supposed to be taped down, and not everything was covered. 

“Well, I tried. Can’t expect to be an expert my first try.”

Seth knocked at the door. “Is it safe to come in?”

“Yeah, you’re good.” Dean folded his arms and stared down at the pair of presents on the bed in front of him.

“My presents are decent?” Seth crawled across the bed to sit next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“They don’t… look right.”

Seth scrutinized them for a moment. “They look all right.”

“They don’t look like yours.” 

Seth carded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. “No, but I’ve been wrapping gifts since I was like fifteen. You’ve been wrapping gifts since fifteen minutes ago.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. “They look fine.”

“I went over the spending limit,” Dean admitted. “I figured, cause I had the money, y’know, from… well, the money left over, since the cop gave me that cheque.”

“That’s alright. I kind of did too.” Seth gave him a sheepish grin. “But it’s our first Christmas together-” Dean groaned. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but technically, it is. And your first Christmas ever.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“I meant doing the whole-” Seth gestured to the gifts in front of them. 

“Thing.”

“Right.” Seth leaned against Dean’s shoulder, pulling his fingers through Dean’s curls again. “Speaking of that cheque, you stopped by and, uh… saw the guy today?”

“Yeah.” Dean started rubbing his hands together, the callouses on his palms rasping quietly. He tried to push words like “worthless fuck” and “useless sack of shit” out of his mind, things he’d been called his entire life, but that still hurt. “That’s taken care of. S’long as I hold up my end of the bargain with the cops.”

Seth touched a cut on Dean’s jawline gently. “So no more of this?”

“Til I get into my next fight, anyway.”

Seth chuckled and leaned forward to kiss him, hands on either side of his face, Dean’s reddish stubble rasping under his fingers. Dean opened to the kiss, letting Seth’s tongue slip inside to run over his teeth, running his hands down Seth’s T-shirt to slide underneath, flesh warm against his cold fingertips. Seth pulled back, eliciting a disappointed whine from Dean.

“We need to go to the grocery store. Although tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, I dunno how much selection there’ll be.”

“Oh right, you challenged me to eat a turkey.”

“I did not _challenge_ you.” Seth slid off the bed. “You took that upon yourself. But we can try to find a small one.”

 

“This is your idea of small?” Dean examined the turkey critically. “That’s still a lot of bird.”

“It’s the smallest one here,” Seth pointed out, pushing his glasses up his nose as he studied his list. “How do you feel about turnips?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a turnip.”

“Squash?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had squash either. What?” Because Seth was giving him an incredulous look. “I’ve been homeless for the last however many years, didn’t really eat a lot of home-cooked food.”

Seth bit his lip; he hadn’t even thought about that. “Well, what do you like?”

“I dunno. Potatoes, I guess. Carrots?” Dean picked up a bunch of cauliflower and frowned at it for a few seconds before putting it back. “Not this shit. Looks like brains.”

“We’ve got potatoes and carrots, but not cauliflower, so you’re safe there.” Seth picked up a turnip and a squash and studied them. “Should we get both? Like, that’s four vegetables.”

“Are potatoes a vegetable?”

“I… have no idea.” Seth gave him a pensive look. “I think so.”

“Just get that one,” Dean said, pointing to the turnip. Seth added it to the cart and did a quick inventory, matching the contents of the basket to the list in his hand.

“I think we’ve got everything.”

“Thank Jesus, we’ve been in here forever.”

“We’ve been here for-” Seth checked his phone. “Thirty-six minutes.”

“It’s too long,” Dean complained, leaning against the cart, Jeremy’s bubble in his hand, Jeremy rattling around as Dean tapped it against the wire basket impatiently. 

“We need one more thing,” Seth told him. 

“We have _all_ of the food,” Dean groused, following behind.

“We do not, and it’s not food.” Seth turned down the aisle and studied the small selection of boxes and tubes in front of him. He didn’t want to make a whole other stop. “Do you have a preference? Dean?”

Dean stuck his head around the corner and glared at him. “No, will you just pick one?”

“What are you doing over there?”

“Waiting for you. Hurry up and just pick one.”

“Dean, no one is even going to care.” Seth dropped a box into the cart and headed toward the checkout. “Besides, it’s sort of something we need, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. Guess so.” Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets as Seth started to unload the cart. “Just never, like… bought anything like that with another dude.”

“Why do you care? You never care what anyone thinks.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Dean protested. He started handing Seth items. “I just don’t… I dunno. It’s all really new. I don’t like it.” 

“What don’t you like?”

“New stuff. Change.” Dean shrugged, drumming his fingers on the side of the conveyor. “Makes me nervous, not knowing.”

“You didn’t always know what was going to happen before you moved in with me, right?”

“Right, but at least I was used to that kind of not knowing.”

Seth blinked. Dean was a mystery to him most of the time, but he wasn’t sure how one way of not knowing was fine and dandy, but another kind of not knowing was nerve-wracking. Sometimes he wondered how Dean could stand to be inside his own mind. 

 

“There is so much food in this fridge,” Seth said, holding the door open and staring into the cold depths. Dean padded up behind him, resting a hand on Seth’s bare hips, above his low-slung pants.

“You wanted to buy it all.” 

“I know. I’m just not sure how I’m gonna cook it all.”

“I can help.” Dean rested his chin on Seth’s shoulder, beard-stubble scraping against Seth’s neck. “I know I’m not good at cookin-” Seth snorted, and Dean pinched him. “Hey, I try.”

“I know you try.” Seth closed the fridge and turned around in Dean’s arms, fingers gripping his strong forearms. “You okay?”

“Tired,” Dean admitted. He’d been trying to push his exhaustion down all day, and it was creeping back with a vengeance now. “Kinda ready for bed.”

“Mm.” Seth tugged Dean’s hair gently, running his hands down his neck and over his shoulders, the solid muscle rippling under his fingers. Seth had no idea how Dean managed to look as good as he did, all things considered. “You should go to bed then.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean was looking at one of the magnets over Seth’s shoulder, avoiding eye contact. Seth cupped his jaw in his palm.

“You want me to come with you, don’t you?”

“Well, last time I got in your bed without you there, you kicked me out.”

“Because you were trying to repay me with sex, and I didn’t want that.” Seth kissed him, and Dean’s head tilted instinctively, so that they fit together. It felt good, Seth thought, pulling back to peck Dean’s lips lightly before claiming him in another deep kiss. It felt right. He slid his arms around Dean’s slim waist and pulled him in close. “You think you could stay up long enough to use this lube we bought? I was kind of hoping maybe we could.”

Dean blinked owlishly and shook his head. “I want to, I just, I don’t wanna fall asleep on you. Under you. Whatever.” He scratched at his temple sheepishly. “Sorry?”

Seth refused to feel disappointment- at least, he told himself he wasn’t disappointed. “No, don’t apologize. If you’re tired, you’re tired, it’s not your fault.”

“Like I said,” Dean started, stifling a yawn against his fist. “Tired all the fuckin time.”

“I understand.” Seth drew his hands down Dean’s front. “I have to remember that you’re still adjusting, like, you’re gonna have symptoms. Come on, let’s go to bed.” He gave Dean a little shove toward the bedroom. Dean went willingly, wanting nothing more than to curl up next to Seth and sink into the oblivion of sleep, knowing he was safe and warm and out of danger.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lord almighty, I am so fucking sorry that this took so bloody long! But here, finally, Christmas chapter three weeks after Christmas, for anyone who is still reading this beast.

Seth woke up to a low buzzing under his pillow.He slid his hand under it and snagged his phone, shutting off the alarm before it woke Dean up. Granted, Dean was dead to the world at the moment, curled up back to back with Seth, a pillow clutched to his chest, Jeremy clenched in his left hand, sticky with cold sweat and twitching slightly. 

Seth slid out of bed cautiously, and made his way out to the living room. He rummaged in the hall closet for a few moments before locating the presents he'd stashed away in there and pulled them out.

He studied the tiny tree he'd set up for a moment, trying to figure out how to work this setup, before shrugging and arranging the three packages in a rough circle. He set the tree down in the midst of them and straightened back up. It wasn't exactly traditional, but it was enough. 

He had no idea where Dean had hidden his gifts, but that wasn't his problem. His problem right now, he thought, as he plugged in the tree, was luring Dean out of bed before noon. All he did lately was eat and sleep, and while that was fine by Seth most days, Christmas was supposed to be celebrated at ass-o'clock in the morning. 

Tradition demanded it.

The one thing he knew was guaranteed to get Dean up and mobile, if not functional, was food. He'd have to risk opening the refrigerator. Hopefully, were he to be buried under an avalanche of festive foodstuffs, Dean would come rescue him.

 

Dean rolled over with a loud groan, the arm holding Jeremy flopping over the side of the bed Seth had vacated, the other hooked over his eyes. Waking up was like swimming out of deep water, coming up through the layers of consciousness like a scuba diver surfacing. Something was cooking, though, and that required his attention.

He rolled onto his belly, folding his fingers around Jeremy's bubble, studying the small orange form within. "I guess this is our first Christmas, bud." The cracker smiled back, vapid as always, and Dean nodded seriously. "I know, it's not somethin we're used to." He cupped the bubble against his cheek, breathing in steadily. "But it might not be so bad." 

It wasn't like they had anything to compare it to, after all. He slithered out of bed and followed his nose to the kitchen, scratching at his stomach with one hand and sniffing hopefully.

Seth heard Dean's slow, shuffling footsteps behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder while he whisked eggs. "Hey, merry Christmas."

"Mhm. Food."

"Scrambled eggs and bacon. I can do pancakes too, if you want?"

"Pancakes. Good." Dean ran his fingers through his tousled hair, not even attempting to flatten it- he had no one to impress- and Seth shook his head. 

"Coffee's almost ready." Seth nodded at the Keurig machine he'd been sent by his parents. "Maybe then you'll be able to work language."

"Pancakes," Dean repeated, bumping the back of Seth's shoulder with his forehead.

Seth waved the whisk at him. "Headbutting me will not make pancakes appear sooner. Go put your presents under the tree."

"It's one foot high."

"Around the base, then."

Dean slouched out of the kitchen, his skin still clammy under his loose grey T-shirt, curls plastered to his forehead. Probably most people didn't feel this shitty on Christmas, he thought as he rooted out his poorly-wrapped packages and dropped them next to the pathetically tiny tree. 

Seth should have been in Iowa, with his family, Dean thought, dropping down onto the couch and rolling Jeremy between his left finger and thumb, restless. Not stuck here with a guy he barely knew, even after four months of near-daily interactions. Granted, they were sleeping together, but that didn't mean anything. It wasn't any kind of foundation to build a holiday on, that was for sure. 

He knew Seth had only stayed for him. It had nothing to do with Kevin, no matter what he'd told Roman. The dog was four years old, and Seth had flown him back before. Dean's thumb tightened against the plastic, threatening to leave a crack in Jeremy's home. Seth shouldn't have to make excuses. Not for him. 

He could feel the plastic giving a little under his fingers and loosened his grip immediately. Jeremy needed his capsule; Dean brought it to his lips and murmured to the fish before holding it out and staring into it despondently 

"Hey, you're not allowed to be gloomy on Christmas." 

Seth's voice broke through Dean's reverie, and he turned to see Seth standing behind the couch, a plate in each hand piled with eggs, bacon and pancakes. Dean grunted and accepted the plate Seth was nudging against his shoulder. 

"Somethin wrong?" Seth asked, a few minutes after they've both dug into their food. 

Dean shrugged. "Nothin you wanna get into again."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't care."

Dean shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth- Seth had remembered the ketchup, this time- staring into space while he chewed. "Still think you should've gone home." He assembled another load of eggs, his fork scraping piercingly against the plate in his hurry to get the food down.

"And what would you do if I had?" Seth speared a chunk of pancake. "Just sat around here?"

"Mhm. Gone to a bar, maybe. Slept." 

"Are there bars that are open on Christmas?"

"Jewish folks gotta go somewhere, right? Buddhists, whatever… lotsa folks don't do Christmas."

Seth nodded. "True. I mean, I only do it cause I grew up doing it. I like it, but it doesn't hold any real deep spiritual meaning for me, like it does for some folks."

"It doesn't hold any meaning to me at all," Dean reflected, crunching down on a piece of bacon; crispy, like he liked it, but thankfully not burnt like the pile on Seth's plate. 

"I would have felt bad, though, thinkin about you by yourself." Seth turned on the couch and wiggled his toes under Dean's thigh. "I know you've been by yourself your whole life, but still."

"Mm." Dean worked his way around his plate, clockwise, and then set it on the floor when he was done. He rescued Jeremy from where he was wedged between Dean's thigh and the arm of the couch and rolled him between his palms, mumbling to himself as Seth finished his breakfast.

"You wanna open presents?" Seth called from the kitchen as he stacked the plates in the sink. "I mean, that's usually the first thing, but I had to lure you out with food."

Dean gave a noncommittal grunt, so Seth made them- Keurig'd them?- each a second mug of coffee and went back, lowering himself to sit cross-legged next to the tree. He held out Dean's cup- blue, with a chip on the rim- and said, "You gotta come sit by me if you want your coffee."

Dean slumped down next to Seth, still clutching Jeremy like his life depended on it, and Seth frowned. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Just dunno what to do. Feels bad."

"Feels bad?" Seth furrowed his brow in concern. "What about it feels bad?"

Dean shook his head; he couldn't explain it, not without upsetting Seth. But he felt... weirdbadwrong, because this was what other people did. This was not what Dean Ambrose did. Dean had spent most of his Christmas' cold and hungry, scrapping and fighting and getting high. Passing out on a subway grate with a bottle of whiskey clutched to his chest. Fucking some girl in an alley and refusing to look at her directly in case she reminds him of his mother.

That was how Dean Ambrose spent the holidays. Not exchanging gifts, or eating turkey, or spending time with family and friends. Those were normal-person activities, and Dean had learned a long time ago that he didn't deserve those kinds of things.

Aware of Seth's intent brown eyes, he cleared his throat. "I guess not bad, just... not used to it."

"Understandable," Seth said quietly. He reached out to pat Dean's knee reassuringly. "If you don't want to do this, we don't have to."

No, they did have to. It might be a crappy Christmas, but Dean had already cheated Seth out of spending this holiday with his family. The least he could do was suck it up and open the presents Seth had for him. "S'okay."

Seth nudged one of the presents toward Dean. "Open."

Dean obliged, tearing the paper along the razor sharp folds- Seth was really good at wrapping, apparently- and revealing a boxed set of the Chronicles of Narnia. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Always wanted to read these. Only read this one, though." He tapped The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. 

"I think every kid has," Seth replied, sitting up so that his heels were tucked under him. Dean handed him a package- certainly not nearly as well wrapped- and sat back. Seth pulled the paper apart, and grinned as he held up the bottle of cologne. "Hey, stuff to make me smell good."

"I didn't, like… I wasn't sure if you'd use it, but I like how it smells." Dean rolled Jeremy between his palms and avoided Seth's gaze. 

Seth popped open the box and uncapped the cologne to sniff. "That actually does smell really good."

Dean gave him another little smile. "Wasn't real sure what you'd be into, kinda had to guess."

"Smelling good never hurts," Seth told him, setting the cologne aside and passing Dean another gift. "I sniped this one on Ebay. I know you're not supposed to tell folks how much you pay for their presents, but I got a really fuckin good deal."

It was oblong and heavy, and Dean was pretty damn sure it was another book, but he never turned down a good book. Seth was bouncing on his heels slightly, excited. "It's a first edition. Original dust jacket and all. It's not signed, though."

Dean flattened his palm on the cover. "I, uh, I never owned a first edition before."

"I know you like Stephen King, and this is my favourite book by him." Seth grinned. "Come on, it's the Stand. Everyone loves this book."

"It's great." Dean had no idea what a first edition went for, but he knew that it sounded expensive. No matter how good a deal Seth claimed he'd gotten, whatever he paid was still too much.

"I kind of cheaped out on your last present," Seth admitted, accepting the lumpy package Dean was holding out. "But it's somethin you can use, so I don't feel too bad."

"It's the thought that counts," Dean mumbled, his eyes fixed on Seth's face as the wrapping paper fell away.

"Um." Seth was at a loss, honestly. This was... not expected. He held it up, and scrutinized it. A series of tiny vertebrae strung together and bent into a circle about an inch and a half across, surmounted by a tiny skull, no bigger than his thumb. It was attached to a leather cord, so it was a necklace, obviously, but why-

"You don't like it." Dean's tone was completely flat. 

"I never said that!" Seth defended himself. "I just… didn't expect something like this."

"I saw your face when you opened it," Dean muttered. "You don't like it. It's okay."

"No, I just, um. I'm really not sure when I'd wear it." Seth fingered the tiny bones.

"It's a bat skull," Dean continued, like he wasn't listening. "And the backbone of a snake. I know a guy who makes these out of roadkill he finds." He shrugged. "I always thought they were cool."

"Roadkill," Seth repeated. Of all his friends, family, everyone he knew, not one of them would think to get him anything like a necklace made of Frankensteined roadkill bits. A nice sweater would have done the job. A pair of gloves. A scarf. He looked at Dean, curled into himself, looking disappointed and back at the necklace. It was actually pretty neat, once you got used to the fact that it was a bat skull that looked like it was biting it's own backbone. Except that the backbone was made of snake. 

Dean rolled Jeremy back and forth between his bare feet and nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Seth looped the leather thong around his neck and clipped the clasp together. "It's not really my aesthetic, but I could get used to this." He tapped it and smiled at Dean. "Kinda Gothic, y'know?"

Dean smiled back. "Looks good on you, though."

Seth pushed the last gift over to Dean. He'd fretted for two days about how to actually present this one to Dean, but he figured this was as good a way as any. 

Dean turned it over in his hands once he'd unwrapped it, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You got me a drawer?"

"The rest of the dresser is in the front closet," Seth said. "I didn't have enough wrapping paper for the whole thing." 

"A dresser?"

"If you're gonna stay here, you gotta have a place to put your clothes, right?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. He had fucking _furniture_ now, like a real adult. Maybe Seth wasn't getting sick of him, or at least, he wasn't getting sick of him as quickly as Dean had assumed. "Yeah, I guess."

Seth scooted closer. "Dean?"

"Hm?" Dean was still studying his presents, thinking, _Who gets their first Christmas presents at twenty-eight, honestly?_

"Can I kiss you?" 

"You don't have to ask every time, y'know."

"Well, I didn't ask you the first time, so I gotta make up for that," Seth answered, referring to the kiss to Dean's forehead when he'd been in the hospital. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dean's. Their stubble scraped for the few seconds the kiss lasted, and then Seth sat back. "Merry Christmas, now we gotta figure out how to cook a turkey."

 

Dean finished piling his meager clothing supply into the small dresser and shut the drawer. He folded his arms across his chest, tapping the forefinger of his left hand against the plastic capsule tucked into his palm. "Well, that wasn't so bad." 

Jeremy made no reply, so Dean continued. "I mean, he's wearin the bat, that's gotta count for somethin." Maybe it _was_ sort of a weird present, but Dean had felt like it was for Seth as soon as Sol had showed it to him, and hey, he'd had the cash in his pocket. 

Seth appeared in the doorway, his blond hair straggling in his face. "Okay, do you know anything at all about stuffing a turkey?"

Dean lifted an eyebrow and shook his head. Did he really look like the kind of guy who knew how to stuff a turkey? He couldn't be trusted to make macaroni without screwing it up. "Got a cookbook?"

"Uh… no." Seth scratched at the back of his neck, frowning. "I'm gonna call my mom."

Dean snorted, but he was smiling. "When all else fails, I guess."

"I could google, but I gotta call my family anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?"

 

Dean curled up in the purple armchair with Kevin snoozing on his stomach, nose buried in The Magician's Nephew, keeping quiet as Seth talked to his mom. 

"Yeah, I got the stuffing made, Ma. I just... how do I get it in the bird?" Seth was pacing back and forth around Dean's chair, waving his hand, and Dean kept slowly rotating his head out of swatting range. "What? I have to put it _where_? Can't I use the other end? Well I don't know, I never put any thought into how it got there. No, Ma, I bake stuff. I'm not a chef. I mostly make coffee."

Dean couldn't help the snicker that escaped him, and Seth shot him a glare before moving into the kitchen. Dean found a recipe stuck in front of his nose a moment later, Seth mouthing,"This is your job," at him. 

Dean took it, but he gave Seth a deeply distrustful look. Apparently, Dean's previous forays into cookery hadn't registered in Seth's memory. Seth shooed him into the kitchen, not missing a beat in his conversation.

 

What exactly was the definition of a large bowl? 

The recipe was propped against the microwave, and Dean leaned over it, his brows furrowed. There were at least four bowls in the cupboard that could be considered large, and he had no idea which one to use. And what the fuck was a tsp? A tbs? How much yeast was in an ounce? There were too many unanswered questions involved in baking, Dean thought.

"Seth!" 

When he appeared in the doorway, Dean held out two bowls. Seth pointed to the larger one. Dean held out the recipe book, pointing to the measurements, and Seth started rummaging in drawers. Between the two of them, they managed to pantomime their way through Dean's questions while Seth finished his phone call.

 

"Just take a handful and fling it. Not at the ceiling. Dean…" Seth pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And now we're covered in flour."

"In my defence, you said fling it. You didn't say I had to aim," Dean pointed out.

"I thought that was implied," Seth sighed. "You fling it across the counter."

Dean did so, although it was a little more exuberantly than necessary- Seth blew a rime of flour from the frames of his glasses- and turned expectantly to Seth, who pointed at the recipe. "It'll tell you what to do."

"Says turn out onto a floured surface, which, that's the whole kitchen, but I'm guessin I'm s'posed to put it here." Dean pointed at the befloured counter, and Seth nodded as he focused on jamming stuffing into a place he'd never wanted to stick his hand. Not on a turkey, anyway.

"Am I doin this right?" 

"You're doing fine. Just remember to flip it occasionally."

Dean had to admit, kneading dough was relaxing as hell. It was pleasantly squishy under his hands, as he rolled and pushed at it, flattening it down, and balling it back up. "This is fun."

"That's why I told you to do it," Seth replied. "Figured you might enjoy playing with the dough."

"I do." Dean wriggled his fingers into it and grinned. Seth watched him out of the corner of his eye, smiling at Dean's obvious delight. 

 

"Y'sure it's gonna rise, though?" Dean hunched over the oven, where the covered bowl of dough was residing and Seth tugged him back gently.

"You followed the recipe, right?"

"Yeah, but I ain't never done this before. I mighta fucked it up."

"It'll be fine. Come mix this."

"What is it?" 

"Pie filling."

"God, you just don't want _any_ dessert, do you?"

"Why?" Seth laughed, laying out the pie crust in the pan. "Because I'm getting you to help?"

"Exactly. Kinda pie is this?"

"Pecan. I hope you like nuts."

Dean gave him a long look, and shook his head. "Too easy. And yeah, I'm cool with, uh, pecans."

Seth slid the pie pan over to him. "Load that up."

"Just dump it in?"

"And then smooth it out. See? You can cook."

"You didn't know how to stuff a turkey," Dean pointed out. Seth snorted.

"I never actually thought about which end it had to go in," he said, flicking a pecan at Dean. "I always helped my grandmother with the baking. It was my mom who dealt with the bird."

"I never baked before."

"Well, you're doing pretty well so far." Seth pushed the remainder of the bag of pecans over to Dean as he went to take the dough out of the oven. "Those go on top."

 

Seth mentally ticked off items that had to go in or out of the oven before the turkey could go in as Dean pulled the dough into hunks and squashed it into roughly bun-shaped pieces with all the enjoyment of a five year old playing in the mud. He slotted the pie into the oven and set the timer. Another tick mark on his mental list. And when that was done, the buns would have risen. They could go in, and when they were done, it would be turkey time. Not bad for his first Christmas dinner without his mother, stepmother or grandmothers overseeing him.

 

They were halfway through the Charlie Brown Christmas special when Seth unfolded himself from where he was snugged up against Dean, who had a pillow clutched to his chest, resting his chin on it. "I'm gonna check out your buns."

Dean made a strangled choking noise, and Seth poked his rear end firmly. "The ones in the oven." 

"Not helping!" Dean grumbled, tucking his chin back into the pillow while Seth rattled around in the kitchen. 

"Your buns are fantastic," Seth said, coming back. Dean groaned. "Turkey's in."

"S'good." Dean picked up his book against as the Christmas special ended, and Seth booted up his laptop.

"Hey, Roman's on skype."

Dean gave him a confused look, and Seth explained. "It's like an instant messaging thing, but you can call people, or video chat too."

"Ah. You have him on there?" There was no lingering jealousy, just curiosity, and Seth nodded.

"Gonna ping him, see if he won the gag gift wars this year."

It transpired that he had. Seth pulled him up on video chat and he showed them the hideous fake Oscar statue his sister had found, which, while tacky, definitely didn't beat out the owl statue.

"So how's your Christmas goin?" Roman asked, reaching out to adjust the angle of his laptop. 

"Seth learned how to stuff a turkey," Dean told him. "And I got books. And Seth got me a dresser to put my shit in, so now I got fuckin furniture like a real grown-up."

"You're a real boy, Dean," Seth muttered sarcastically. He leaned forward to show Roman the necklace he'd gotten. "Got cologne too. What about you?"

"Cologne's always good," Roman agreed, although he made no comment on the necklace. "I got- you're gonna laugh at me, but I'm so excited about this- a Roomba. From my parents. Since my mother thinks I'm never home and that's why there's dust on everything."

"You got a robot vacuum?" Dean gave Seth a pained look. "How come _you_ don't have a robot vacuum? I want a robot vacuum."

"How do you know what a Roomba is, but not Skype?" Seth questioned him.

"They got em at Sears, Seth. In a little caged off area, so you can watch em go. I named em all."

"You named the Roombas at Sears?" Roman lifted an eyebrow.

"Fred and Barney and Bert and Ernie," Dean informed him without a trace of sarcasm, and Roman had to excuse himself for a minute. Dean looked at Seth. "What? They're practically people."

"They're machines, Dean."

"Machines that move around and clean up and go back home to rest. Practically people," Dean insisted, and Seth let it drop. He was not about to spend Christmas debating the plot of I, Robot (starring Roombas) with Dean.

Roman came back, holding up a mug of coffee like that was the only reason he'd needed to go, and Seth smirked. "Roman, tell Dean he can come visit your robot vacuum."

"Dean, you can come visit my robot vacuum," Roman answered without hesitation. "Just please, don't try to feed it."

"What if it gets hungry?"

"Uh, it's a robot." Seth made a slicing motion across his throat, and Roman added, "And I'm pretty sure vacuums eat, like, crumbs and stuff. Dust, pine needles. You know."

"Vacuum food," Dean agreed solemnly, and Seth was again unable to detect any sarcasm. 

He knew Dean had a dry sense of humor, but the inability to tell whether he was actually joking or not was still a little unnerving. The man talked to a fish cracker, after all; it was entirely possible that he genuinely believed vacuums fed on crumbs. Telling fantasy from reality wasn't exactly Dean's strongest point, and, while Seth was getting better at navigating the choppy, turbulent waters of Dean being Dean, he was still caught off guard more often than not.

Dean was demanding to know what Roman planned to name the Roomba, because Names Were Important To Dean. Roman's expression on the screen was one of slightly bewildered amusement, and Seth felt like telling him to join the club. "He named the Keurig too, Rome. By the way, my parents sent me one of those."

"Names are important," Dean insisted, rolling Jeremy's capsule along his leg. He'd never explained this thing with names, and Seth assumed that he never would. He'd long since learned to just accept what Dean said and file it away to think about when things were slow at work.

"So what's the Keurig's name?" Roman wanted to know.

"Toby," Dean replied, picking at his fingernails, restless now. 

Seth prodded him gently. "Don't pick." 

Dean ceased worrying his cuticles and curled his fingers around Jeremy again. It was some kind of dumbass irony or something, he figured. He'd never picked at himself while he was using, or at least, not very much, and now that he'd quit, he was digging at himself constantly. Seth hadn't noticed at first, or he had and never said anything, but now that Dean was spending more time awake, he was doing it more often. Seth couldn't help but notice. 

It was a way to distract himself from the cravings, Dean explained. Sometimes they got so bad that clawing his arm open was the only way to make himself stay in the apartment, to force himself from running back to Manny, back to that life he was trying so hard to escape. "I gotta hurt myself to keep from hurtin myself," was how Dean had put it the night before, when Seth had caught sight of the long parallel scabs on Dean's forearm.

Seth got up to check on the turkey again, leaving Roman and Dean to banter about naming the vacuum. Dean seemed to be winning the debate, he thought as he bent over to peer into the oven. They'd have it named by the time he got back to the living room.

Roman gave him a defeated look when he arrived back on the couch. "So my Roomba's name is Reggie. Apparently." 

Dean gave a triumphant fistpump, and Seth started to laugh. It had never been a debate Roman was going to win. Not with Dean's adamance. But Reggie was a good name for a Roomba, and Seth told them as much. They chatted for a little longer before making their good-byes- prompted by Roman's mother calling him to come reach something down for her- and logged off. 

Seth nudged Dean. "Come on, I'll show you how to peel potatoes."

"I could probably figure that out on my own," Dean countered, and Seth asked if he'd be able to peel them without losing half the potato in the process. Dean conceded that he probably couldn't, and followed Seth. 

They peeled companionably, potatoes, carrots, the turnip, which Dean was eyeballing suspiciously. Seth reminded him that he'd picked it out, so he couldn't complain, and Dean argued that he'd wanted to leave the damn store, so he'd just picked at random. 

Seth found that he was enjoying himself immensely. Dean's mood had improved greatly, presents had been exchanged, the whole house was filled with the smell of turkey, there was a small, alert dog sitting just outside the kitchen and hoping for scraps to fall,.

He decided, when they sat down to eat, that they'd managed a pretty good Christmas for themselves. Dean's expression when he tasted the turnip the first time sent him into gales of laughter, but Dean steadfastly kept eating, insisting that he'd acquire the taste.

Seth talked him out of eating the entire rest of the turkey- "but you challenged me!"- insisting that they'd make it into soup and sandwiches, as per tradition. He taught Dean another Rollins family Christmas tradition, the annual game of Risk, or tried to; the cards were a sticking point, and so was Dean's grousing that, as the defender, he _should_ have the advantage. Something about trench warfare, right before Seth flipped the board over to shut him up and pulled Dean into the bedroom.

Although he couldn't vouch for the traditionalism of their activities- certainly not a Rollins _family_ tradition, good Lord Almighty, no- Seth made a mental note to pencil "having sex with Dean" in as a regular occurrence. 

Once they were finished and Dean was asleep beside him, his back rising and falling with his slow, steady breathing, Seth ghosted his hand over the long scar that ran down Dean's back, parallel to the shoulder blade. He'd wondered about that scar, and the ones on the back of Dean's arm, the nape of his neck, and all the ones peppering his legs. Maybe he'd know, one day. 

Seth dropped an arm over Dean's narrow hips and tucked his nose into the back of Dean's hair, humming a carol under his breath as a delicious warm sleepiness enveloped him.

Their happy holiday feeling lasted a week into the new year.


	15. Chapter 15

Ironically, it was Roman who was dispatched to the anonymous 911 call.

That, in and of itself, was not particularly unusual. They got anonymous calls all the time, folks coming across someone hurt or sick and either not wanting to get involved, or afraid they were going to have to foot the bill. 

Shane rolled the bus to a stop at the curb, and Roman made a quick survey of the scene. There was a small knot of people on the sidewalk- four, he could count offhand- clumped around a prone figure down on the ground. 

It wasn't until he had wrestled the stretcher out of the back of the ambulance and the people moved to let them through that he recognized the two-toned hair, spread out on the sidewalk, the blond stained with blood. "Oh holy shit."

Shane gave him a startled look, and Roman swallowed thickly. "I know him. He's a friend of mine."

"Well, someone had it out for him," Shane replied as they log-rolled Seth onto the backboard and started checking his vitals. "Christ, there's blood all over him."

"He's stable enough to transport," Roman said, sweeping Seth's hair out of his face while Shane strapped on a collar. He wiped his bloody glove on the side of the gurney, a sick squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach as Seth groaned in pain. "Let's get him loaded." He stood up, knees creaking, and looked around. "Any of you see anything?"

There was a murmur of dissention, and Roman sighed. "Of course not." 

An old woman stepped forward, holding out a wallet in one wrinkled hand. "This was next to him when we found him. I didn't want anyone to make off with it."

"Thanks," Roman replied, taking it from her and pocketing it. "You found him?"

"No," she quavered. "My son and I were on our way to the bus stop and we came across him. That was just a few minutes before you got here. Charles was going to call-"

"You got here right as I was about to," the man next to her told Roman; he assumed this was Charles, the son.

"I hope he'll be alright," the old lady continued. "It's a shame when a young man can't even walk down the street without being attacked."

"Right," Roman agreed. "Well, thanks. I'm sure he'll appreciate that you picked up his wallet."

He moved away to help Shane heft the stretcher into the ambulance, jumping in as the crowd dispersed.

 

Roman didn't think he'd ever paid this much attention to a patient before, but then, he'd never had to pick up a friend before either. Dean didn't count.They hadn't been friends at the time, but now he knew Seth. He knew he had a dog named Kevin, that he liked Call of Duty, and baseball, and Crossfit, and all of those things swirled in his mind as he looked down at the crimson mask that coated Seth's face. He just hoped there was no serious injury- there was only so much they could assess on the spot.

And he had no way to get hold of Dean; as far as Roman knew, Dean didn't have a phone, and he wasn't sure how else to get hold of him. He could run by the apartment, of course, but there was no guarantee that Dean would be around.

Seth groaned again, and Roman looked up from the pulse oximeter he was checking. "Seth?"

"Hnng." Brown eyes blinked open, darting around frantically. "Washappen?"

"You know who I am?" Roman hunkered down next to him.

"Rome."

"You know who you are?"

"Seth."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"S'Tuesday. Jan… January somethin," Seth slurred. Roman clicked on his maglite and checked his pupils. Dilating normally, so he was probably just confused. Roman clicked the light off again. 

"You remember what happened?"

"Walkin… down to work. Pick up my cheque." Seth closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pressure of the cervical collar around his neck, poking through his memories. "Went down th' alley… b'hind th bookstore. S'all I remember." His eyes flicked to Roman's, confused. "Why'm I in here?"

"We got a call," Roman said. "Someone needed an ambulance. Dispatch said whoever called thought you'd been mugged. I've got your wallet here, by the way." He tapped his pocket. "Some elderly lady picked it up, said she didn't want anyone to steal it."

"S'nice of her," Seth sighed. "Dean?"

"I have no idea where he is. Do you?"

Seth shook his head, or tried to, wincing in the collar. "No, he was gone when I got up."

Of course he was, Roman thought. It would be far too easy for Dean to be in the damn apartment so Roman could track him down. "I'll find him."

 

Although that was easier said than done, Roman had to admit. He'd been wandering around for over an hour now, checking Dean's usual haunts, or at least, what he'd pinpointed as Places Dean Hung Around Often Enough.

"Shit, I'm supposed to find a ghost with no fucking cell phone and tell him his boyfriend is in the hospital with busted ribs and a cracked skull," Roman muttered, shrugging deeper into his sheepskin coat. He'd circled past the apartment twice, with no sign of Dean. The same with the coffeeshop and the bookstore, and now he was out of ideas. Unless…

"Fuck, there you are! I've been looking all over for you, little brother." Roman leaned over the pool table as Dean snapped off a shot. "Seth's hurt."

Dean's cue skidded across the table, leaving a long gouge in the felt as he whirled to face Roman. "What?"

"Somebody jumped him," Roman said quickly. "Shane and I brought him in a few hours ago. I would've come and got you sooner, but my shift wasn't over, and then I couldn't find you."

"He okay?" Dean was more wild-eyed than usual, and Roman realized that he really did care about Seth.

"He's got a broken elbow, three broken ribs and a hairline fracture to the skull. Whoever got him split his forehead open, so he's got stitches. His face his pretty messed up."

"Take me to him," Dean demanded. Roman held up his hands to try to calm him, and Dean fisted both hands in the front of Roman's jacket, hauling him in face-to-face with surprising strength. "Now. I need to see him."

"Alright, fuckin let go of me, and I'll drive you over there."

 

The machines were bothering Dean. He was doing his best to not let the tension show, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Roman in the dimly lit room, but if the way he was working that plastic capsule around in his hands was any indication, he was just about ready to snap. 

Roman nudged him, gently, hoping he wouldn't get a fist to the face for his efforts, and Dean's fingers stilled for a moment, nails going white on the plastic. "He's gonna be all right."

"Maybe," Dean replied flatly, his fingers going back to work. The rattling of the cracker might have been soothing to him, but it was driving Roman crazy.

"He will. There's no cerebral edema, the doctors said. He should be fine. Just with a hell of a headache for a few days."

"The fuck is a cerebral whatsis?" Dean snapped. "I ain't smart like you."

"You're smart," Roman told him. "Just in a different way. Brain swelling, basically. Fluid accumulates in the brain and pushes it against the skull. It can really fuck a person up."

"Seth ain't got that, though?" Dean chewed anxiously at his thumbnail, blue eyes focused on Roman, like he could make everything better.

"No. He's got a concussion, but that's pretty manageable. He just needs to rest."

"I can look after him," Dean said, pushing himself up to pace around the room. He'd been doing that off and on since they'd arrived, and Roman wished he'd stop. It made him dizzy, trying to follow the rapid progression of Dean's long legs from one side of the small room to the other, stopping every time he made a circuit to lean over Seth.

"I'm sure you can," Roman murmured, although he was not at all sure that Dean could look after a hamster, let alone another person. "Someone should let his boss know what happened."

Dean furrowed his brow. "He's supposed to open tomorrow. I dunno what we're gonna do."

 _We?_ Roman thought, folding his fingers together and propping his elbows on his knees. "It's not like he meant for this to happen."

"I know that," Dean growled. He was standing next to Seth's bed again, one hand hovering over the blankets, hesitant. 

Roman stretched his legs out in front of him, hands folded on his belly. "Wish someone had seen something, though."

Dean had finally brought his hand to rest on Seth's ankle. "Seen something?"

"About who did this to him."

"I know who did it," Dean muttered, his thumb stroking over the scratchy hospital blanket. 

"You know?"

"Manny," Dean breathed, so low Roman almost didn't hear. 

He lifted an eyebrow. "Manny?"

"My, uh… my old dealer. Supplier." Dean waved his hand, Jeremy rattling wildly. "It's complicated."

"I have time," Roman answered, crossing his legs at the ankles. Dean slumped down next to him, tweezing Jeremy between two fingers and staring into the scratched, plastic bubble.

"He's my dealer. Cooks the shit, sells the shit, had me runnin the shit… did more'n that, but I don't wanna get into it."

"And you think he did this?" Roman gestured to Seth.

"Who else had a reason? You said he wasn't mugged, and as far as I know, he ain't got no one with an issue with im, so…"

Roman nodded. "I guess that's a reasonable assumption. But why Seth?"

Dean shrugged. "To get back at me? I mean, he said he knew I was gonna fall back into it, but I haven't yet." Dean flexed his fingers, looking very exhausted all of a sudden. Roman patted his knee gently. "I dunno, Roman. He used me for a lot of shit, different ways to get cash, whatever, and I'm guessin he figured out what Seth and me got goin. He's got eyes all over the damn place; someone saw somethin, I guess."

"So you _do_ have something going," Roman said quietly.

"I guess." Dean shrugged. "I mean, we live together and shit. Other… other stuff."

"Sleeping together."

Surprisingly, Dean coloured at that, ducking his head as he nodded. Roman figured Dean would be the last person to get shy about sex. "Yeah. That kinda stuff."

They lapsed into silence, the only sounds the steady beeping of the machines and Seth's slow, raspy breathing. Dean wasn't even rattling the fish anymore, although he looked like he was thinking, hunched over, elbows on his knees. Roman leaned his head back against the window behind them and closed his eyes. He'd never expected anything like _this_ when he'd first walked into Downtown Grounds on that 911 call.

"Roman?"

"Hm?" Roman cracked one grey eye.

"You know that thing, that feelin like… when you hang out with someone, and you start feelin like you kinda wanna hang out with them forever?"

Roman considered that for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. What about it?"

"What's that called?" Dean's voice cracked a little, and Roman waited a few seconds to answer.

"Honestly? I think that's called love, man."

"That's what I was worried about," Dean sighed, tapping Jeremy on the knee of his jeans.

"You'll figure it out," Roman told him, fistbumping his shoulder and standing. "Look, I gotta get going, but I'll stop in tomorrow for a bit, yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Sure, man. Seth would appreciate it, even if he's not, y'know, conscious."

Roman shrugged into his coat. "Look, I know you want to get back at the guy who did this, Dean, but please, don't get arrested. Seth needs you."

"Yeah. I, uh, I can't promise anything," Dean said, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Roman shook his head. "Just try, man. If you care about him the way it sounds like you do, you won't go lookin for Manny."

Dean gestured to Seth. "I can't just let this go. I can't."

"Just be careful, alright? I had to pick you up and bring you here once," Roman said, pointing sternly. "I don't want to be doin it again."

 

This same fucking alley. Still overflowing with trash, still reeking of the river, and still full of more memories than Dean wanted to think about. He shoved his hands in his pockets, not even feeling the frosty wind whipping around him. He was too pissed off for that. 

"Manny!" He pounded on the door, the rage that had been simmering inside his gut roiling up into his chest. " _Manny!_ You open this fucking door, you fuck, and fuckin face me." Dean reared back and slammed his foot into the rusted door. " _Fucking coward!_ "

He banged on the door a few times, and then clenched his hand into a fist and sent it through the window next to the door. "Motherfucker!"

"You son of a bitch!" The door swung open, finally, and Manny was there, all filthy undershirt and oversized sweatpants, and Dean flew at him, propelling him backwards into the squalor of the house. 

"You _fucking asshole_ ," Dean screamed, backhanding him across the face. "You fucking… hurt… him." His words were punctuated with sharp blows, the rage inside him finally bursting free like water over a dam break. Right now, he couldn't think about anything but the image of Seth in the hospital, Seth lying on the sidewalk, Seth covered in blood and hurting and Dean nowhere near to help him.

"Your little faggot boyfriend?" Manny bellowed back, shoving Dean up and away from him before charging after him, snorting like a rhino. "You-" He slapped Dean across the face, hard. "Work for me, remember?"

"No, I don't! I don't!" Dean snarled back, wiping his bleeding lip on his sleeve. "I told you, I'm fuckin done."

"Fuckin done? You're a fucking whore, Ambrose. You're a little crystal slut, and you won't _ever_ be anything but that." Manny hurled a beer bottle at him, and Dean ducked out of the way, barely.

"Fuck you, Manny. Fuck. You." Dean's voice was low, now, rough and raspy and absolutely poisonous. "You fucking hurt him, you scumfuck. He didn't do _anything,_ and you put him in the fucking hospital!"

"That's where he deserves to be," Manny growled, balling his fists. "You're supposed to be _here_ , asshole. Running for me. Working for me."

"I told you, I'm done with that." Dean's hand went to his pocket, Jeremy's bubble a comforting bulge there. "I'm done."

"You ain't _ever_ gonna be done with me, boy."

Dean's fingers curled into fists again, and he took a step forward before Roman's voice echoed in his head. _"Seth needs you. If you care about him the way it sounds like you do, you won't go lookin for Manny._ " Well, he'd already done that, but he didn't have to escalate it. "I am. You fuckin stay away from me and my guy."

"Or what? Pussy. You're backin away already." Manny was advancing, and Dean ached to lunge at him again, rearrange that smarmy, greasy face. The thought of Seth stuck in the hospital without him stayed his hands though, and he backed out the door, albeit reluctantly.

"Just leave us alone, Manny. We ain't doin anything to you, you don't need to do anything to us. Just let this die," Dean told him, and turned to jog down the steps, hands jammed in his pockets, Manny's curses turning the air blue behind him.

 

Seth's face really _was_ messed up.

Dean trailed a finger over the side of Seth's face, purple with bruises. Someone had cleaned the dried flakes of blood from his skin, but he still looked rough. Both eyes were swollen shut, and there was an egg-sized lump on his jaw. Dean knew his ribs were bandaged under the hospital gown, and his left arm was completely swathed in plaster, from wrist to shoulder. Dean sighed, scratching at an eyebrow absently. "Seth, I… I'm sorry."

He knew Seth couldn't hear him, or if he could, couldn't let him know, but he felt like he should apologize. Seth wouldn't be here, laying in this bed with a face that looked like a punching bag, had Dean not come into his life. Dean hunkered down next to the bed and took Seth's hand between both of his. "I swear to god, Seth, if I had known this would happen, I would never have… I don't know. Come into the shop. Overdosed in the bathroom. Stayed with you. Fuck." 

Dean got to his feet, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "I went to see him. Manny. Told him to stay away, but fuck, I don't know if he will. I ain't gonna put you in anymore danger, though." He pushed a strand of hair off Seth's face, a few flakes of blood clinging to the rough pads of his fingers as he pulled away. 

Seth let out a low groan, stirring slightly under Dean's hand, but didn't wake. Dean withdrew slightly, his hand dipping into his pocket to pull Jeremy out. He pressed the bubble to his lips, murmuring softly to the cracker. "I dunno if Roman's right, but I know there's somethin. Maybe…" Dean looked down at Seth again, Seth and his big nose and his stupid long eyelashes, and sighed. "Maybe. I just wish it wasn't so fuckin hard. Seems like every time we try and get anywhere, somethin happens to screw it all up."

He slid onto the edge of the bed, leaning over Seth, close enough for their breath to mingle, so he could inhale Seth's scent. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this afraid for someone else; had he ever? He laid his head on Seth's uninjured shoulder, careful not to jostle him. "I'll talk to your boss, okay? Tell him you had an accident, somethin. Hopefully he'll hang onto your job for you."

Dean curled his fingers around Seth's, listening to the slow beep of the machine next to the bed as he breathed along with the rise and fall of Seth's chest. "I gotta go home, though. I don't wanna," he admitted. "I'd rather stay with you, but they'll probably kick my ass out pretty soon anyway. And someone gotta look after the dog."

He slipped reluctantly off the bed and bent over to press a kiss to Seth's forehead, under the line of stitches, and straightened up. Seth looked so fucking _young_ laying there, his face scraped and bruised, and it was all Dean's fault. Dean, who had never been able to keep from fucking up the lives of people he cared about. Dean, who managed to wander into the life of a total stranger and drag him straight down into a hell he didn't deserve.

He stood over the bed, a contemplative look on his face, slowly rolling Jeremy between his fingers. Finally, he came to a decision, and reached out to tuck the plastic bubble into Seth's hand before he turned and walked out of the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to finish, and I am sorry. Lots of things going on in RL, but here y'go, chapter 16 c: This is kind of a weird one, I think.
> 
> I've already got a title for the sequel, which will probably be a series of one-shots set in this same universe.

The grey light of dawn saw Dean sitting on a park bench, tucked into himself as the wind swirled snowflakes around him and sent his brown curls corkscrewing wildly out of control. He watched the sun creep up between the buildings, reflecting off the still-unfrozen pond in front of him, sparkles of light dazzling his eyes. 

He missed his fish. 

He'd done the right thing, though, leaving him with Seth. Seth needed Jeremy more than Dean did, right now. But it was still hard; his fingers twitched in the cold air, trying to press against plastic that wasn't there. 

His backpack was next to him, still duct-taped, but a little heavier than it used to be; he carried more things now. He sat on the cold metal bench and watched the sun come up, and tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

Dean had never stayed anywhere for anyone. It wasn't in his nature. But he'd stayed for Seth, because he liked Seth, liked talking to him and kissing him and fucking him, and he knew Seth must like him, at least a little, because Seth seemed to like doing all that stuff with him too.

And all Seth had gotten out of liking Dean was a hospital bed. A hospital bed, broken bones, tubes up his nose and machines beeping around him.

Seth deserved better than that. He deserved better than Dean. Dean who took everything good and gave back nothing but pain.

He was doing the right thing.

-

Roman stopped in the doorway of Seth's room, startled. He'd expected Dean to be there, twitchy and sputtery, with Jeremy in hand. Instead, there was nothing but the soft hiss of the oxygen, Seth's slow, regular breathing, and the wavering lights of the EKG.

He stepped into the room, slowly, and walked over to the bed. Seth was still out of it, but that wasn't anything too unusual for head trauma. A piece of paper on the chair next to the bed caught his eye, and Roman reached out to pick it up. 

"Oh, you asshole," he muttered as soon as he saw the key taped to the bottom, under Dean's untidy scrawl. "You Dear John'd him in the fucking hospital?"

It wasn't for Seth, though, not exactly. Roman frowned as he read. It was for him; instructions for feeding the dog, and a plea for Roman not to hate him, he was doing what was best for Seth. He'd left him Jeremy, that was something- Jesus, Dean even rambled on paper- and Seth would be better off this way, because he didn't need Dean, and he'd forget him eventually.

Roman tugged the key up, holding it in his palm as he crumpled the paper in his other hand. Fucking asshole. It was abundantly clear to Roman that Dean hadn't the faintest goddamn clue what Seth needed- not a damn cracker, that was for sure- and that he was using this as an excuse to run away.

Guys like Dean always ran away when they couldn't cope with what was going on. Roman liked Dean fine, but he knew the type; self-loathing and brash, arrogance to cover up what was broken deep down, swaggering and loud and trying to scare people away from getting too close, from seeing the fear under the mask, the frightened child inside the grown man.

"Not a chance, son." Roman turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Seth would appreciate him finding Dean far more than he'd appreciate Roman sitting next to him for an hour while he was conked out.

-

"Are you sure you don't want to go in?"

Dean flicked his eyes toward the nurse and shook his head. This was as close as he could allow himself to get, and even it was too much. Dean didn't even know why he was still in town. It had been three days, and he was still here, still coming in every night to sit outside Seth's room, in this too-bright hallway that stank of antiseptic and sickness.

He hadn't crossed paths with Roman yet, although he was sure the big EMT was still coming to see Seth. He just hoped he was looking after Kevin; it wasn't the dog's fault any of this had happened.

"He asks about you, you know."

Dean looked up at her again, a plump black lady with an array of upswept braids; Angelina, her nametag read. She was here every night. Just like him. "He does? He's awake?"

"Assuming you're Dean, he does. He woke up a couple of days ago, when that EMT with the tattoo was here, the one who works downstairs."

"Roman."

"Yeah. About the first words he said were,"Where's Dean?" It might help if he knew you came here every night." She propped her clipboard on her ample hip and gave him a long look. "You look wrecked, honey. Want me to make you up a cup of hot tea?"

"That'd be nice," Dean allowed; he'd been sleeping in the park the last few nights, holed up under a bridge with some of the others he used to run with. Something hot to drink might help pull the chill out of his bones.

"Here." Angelina returned, holding out a steaming styrofoam cup. Dean accepted it, curling his icy fingers around it and holding his face over the steam, warmth prickling through him at the fragrant humidity.

"Thanks," he muttered. 

"So is there a particular reason you're avoiding your friend?" she asked, sitting down next to him. There was no suspicious emphasis on friend, no air of trying to pry; she was genuinely curious and concerned.

"I don't…" Dean shook his head, and rephrased in his head. "Don't wanna hurt him."

"You're not the one who did this to him."

"No, I did," Dean admitted. "Not directly, but he got hurt cause of me."

"Honey, you are not in control of what happens to him every minute he's away from you." She rested her hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened for a moment before relaxing slowly. 

"No, I know that," he said slowly. "But if… I mean, the person that did this?" He gestured toward the window of Seth's room. "Only knew about him because of me."

"So you're going to sit here and beat yourself up about it."

"I guess, yeah. Til I leave, anyway." Dean closed his eyes and meditated over his tea for a few seconds before taking a sip. It wasn't Jeremy, but it was something in his hands, at least.

"What will running away solve, hm?"

"Keep him safe," Dean muttered, slowly sipping at his tea again. This was exactly why he'd been avoiding Roman, but apparently medical professionals shared some kind of hivemind or something.

"I doubt he would agree," she replied, getting to her feet. "He seems very attached to you, you know."

Dean shook his head. "Thanks for the tea."

-

Six days, and he was still in town. 

He'd been by the bus station seven times in the past week, and he was still in town.

He hadn't been by the apartment since Seth's… accident. It was safer, in his head, to call it that, to pretend like it was due to random chance. Without Jeremy, it was all he had to keep the voices at bay. He had another option, of course, but he was doing his best to stay far, far away from that; Manny wasn't going to get the satisfaction of seeing him come crawling back. It wasn't even for Dean, anymore. It was for Seth.

He'd stopped in at the coffeeshop, told Paul that Seth hadn't been showing up because he was in the hospital, and where he could find him. Dean hoped that Seth would still have a job when he was released, which was going to be soon, according to Nurse Angelina. She was still there every night, telling him to go in, to see Seth, because he wouldn't stop asking for Dean. 

And he knew Roman was looking for him. 

Dean had avoided the streets around Downtown Grounds, knowing that Roman lived near there, and he just… didn't want to run into him. He wasn't ready to be guilted into going to see Seth, and he wasn't ready to deal with Roman. He wasn't ready to see anyone, not yet. Dean knew Manny had people looking for him, so he went to ground.

He had work to do.

Payphones were going extinct, and it was a pain in the ass, but he was getting what he needed, slowly. A phone call here, a word in the right ear there, and he was pulling the pieces together, despite the way his thoughts tended to scatter and run away and reform when he was on his own.

He'd voluntarily walked into a police station for the first time in his life, sweaty fingers gripping the grubby white card with Detective Henderson's information on it. He'd sat down with the man, drummed his fingers on the table, and told him everything he'd weaselled out in the past week. 

"You never mentioned this before." Henderson peered at Dean over the rims of his glasses, and got a shrug in response.

"I told you everything I knew at the time. Now I'm tellin you more. I ain't gonna tell you how I learned this shit, so don't even ask." He pushed a few pieces of paper across the table and sat back. "Everything you're gonna need is there. You ain't the only one who can find people willing to talk."

Henderson picked up the papers and looked them over, humming appreciatively. "He's been in business for a while."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, drumming his fingers on the table again, trying to burn off some restlessness. He wondered if this was the right thing to do, since he'd never been any great shakes at planning anything, but he had to try. He was planning to jump town anyway, he was still convinced of that, so however this ended, at least Seth would be safe.

-

The package was heavy in his hands, and heavy on his heart. Dean pulled the cardboard flaps open in the hallway outside Seth's room, rustling the paper aside and looking down at the contents. He didn't touch- the idea alone made his stomach squirm- but he stared into the box for a long time before he closed it again, and nodded. There was a finality in the gesture, and he got up, pacing across the hallway- two steps- to look into Seth's window. 

He didn't look comfortable, Dean thought, his hands stuffed into his back pockets, chewing slowly on the inside of his lip as he watched Seth shift in his sleep. He could see Jeremy in Seth's hand, barely, the green lid of the plastic capsule just visible in the dim light spilling into the room from the hallway. The sight made Dean's heart speed up a little, and he pushed down the ache it brought up into his chest. He wanted to go to Seth, desperately, but he turned away instead, scooping up the cardboard box in one hand as he left.

-

Seth pushed his food around the segmented plate in front of him, frowning at it. After a week, he was sick and goddamn tired of hospital food. The only thing that tasted even remotely okay was the little plastic carton of apple juice. He lifted his spoon to eye level, watched the grey slop they called oatmeal drip down into the dish in front of him, and set it down with a grunt of displeasure.

At least Paul had stopped in a couple of days before, told him he was holding Seth's position open for him. It was something, anyway, because he didn't have to do that; baristas were a dime a dozen- anyone could jerk coffee, if they were trained. 

And Roman popped in a couple of times a day to see how he was doing. They'd watched a lot of tv and played a lot of cards the last few days, even though Seth couldn't shuffle for shit right now and more often than not wound up spraying cards into Roman's face because he could do it, damn it, he didn't need help shuffling cards. 

Roman could be remarkably sarcastic with his eyebrows.

Roman had informed him he was looking after Kevin, which should have relieved Seth, but only had the effect of making him feel worse. Dean was gone, then, had to be; Seth had figured that he'd at least look after the dog for him, even if he hadn't come to see Seth himself.

His eyes strayed to the table next to the bed, toward the plastic bubble sitting there, the fish inside staring out- smiling back, wasn't that how the jingle went?- and Seth closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. 

He'd never know how much it had cost Dean to leave Jeremy here. He just wished he could remember him doing it; instead, he had a fuzzy recollection of waking up to a nurse trying to pry the capsule out of his hands, of shouting at her for doing so, and Roman castigating her for it. 

He dragged his gaze away from the cracker and focused back on his breakfast, trying hard to ignore the ache of missing Dean and the ferocious itching inside his cast.

"You gonna eat, or just glare at it?"

"Hey Roman," Seth mumbled, digging his spoon back into the 'oatmeal', as it purported to be. He wasn't even hungry, but to avoid another scolding from Samoa Thor over there, he'd eat it. 

"You see the paper this morning?"

"Not yet. Why, anything interesting happening? The new mall open up yet?"

"No, but look," Roman flipped the paper open to the third page and held it out to Seth. "Wasn't Dean's dealer named Manny?"

"Y-yeah," Seth agreed, slowly, pressing his palm to the paper and reading the type. "He's dead?"

"Got his ass shot in a police raid." Roman plunked himself down in the chair and procured a paper sack from seemingly nowhere, offering it to Seth. "Muffin?" When he didn't get a reply, he bit into his blueberry muffin and nodded at the paper that Seth was clenching. "Y'think Dean had anything to do with this?" 

Seth swallowed a couple of times, trying to calm his racing heart. "Maybe. Could just be a fluke."

"A fluke?" Roman gave Seth his very best sarcastic eyebrows. "Right, you get hospitalized and the guy winds up dead a week later?" Roman cracked open the carton of orange juice he'd brought along and tipped it to Seth. "That's a mighty big coincidence."

"I'm not saying it isn't." Seth set the paper down and looked at Roman. "Have you seen him?"

"Nah, Seth, I'm sorry. I've been lookin for him, and he's just… not around." Roman crossed his legs, resting the ankle of one on the knee of the other and frowning at a splotch of something unidentifiable on his uniform pants. "I hate to say it, man, but I think he bailed."

Seth shook his head. Dean wouldn't. He couldn't. Not without at least saying goodbye. And leaving a goldfish cracker jammed under Seth's hand didn't count. "No. No, he wouldn't do that. He'd… he'd have to say something. He wouldn't just go." Seth fiddled with his plastic spoon before continuing in a very small voice,"I thought I meant more to him than that." 

Roman leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "You do. That's… I think that's why he's staying away. He wants to keep you safe." He cast a significant look toward the table, and Seth nodded, swallowing hard. 

"I know, I just- I really think I'm, well... y'know."

"I know, man." Roman pressed a hand down on Seth's forearm, trying to offer what comfort he could. "If he didn't care, he wouldn't have left you Jeremy."

"I know, but he didn't even… he couldn't leave a note?"

"He left me a note," Roman told him. "Asking me to look after Kevin, and, uh, said that you'd be better off. That you'd forget him."

"I won't ever forget him." Seth's tone was flat.

"Maybe you won't need to," Roman answered, quietly, because Seth looked like he was trying not to cry. "He might come back, once he hears." Roman gestured again to the paper sitting on Seth's legs.

"Assuming he's not already gone. Like a thief in the night," Seth muttered.

"Poetic is not a good look on you," Roman told him, wrinkling his nose. He got to his feet and tossed the paper sack onto Seth's lap. "There's three muffins in there. Don't say I never did nothin for ya."

"You're headin out?" It wasn't that Seth minded being alone, but he'd had very few visitors and sitting by himself in a hospital bed was an exercise in torture. He'd caught himself counting the window blinds, even.

"Yeah, sixteen hour shift," Roman replied. There was sympathy in his eyes right along side the exhaustion. "I can hear my bed calling me from here."

Seth picked at the bedspread, trying not to sound too petulant when he said,"I'll see you later, then."

-

Roman slumped against the door as he slid his key into the lock, turning back the deadbolt to let himself in. What a night. Three stabbings, a gunshot wound, a fender bender, a cardiac arrest and one dispatch to a stoner who had spent a full five minutes demanding chicken nuggets and extolling the virtues of McDonald's variety of sauces.

It was too much for one EMT team, Roman thought, stifling a yawn as he kicked the door closed and patted around for the light switch. He was going to feed Albie and Tobias, take Kevin out and then sail right into bed.

The light snapped on, and Roman nearly has a cardiac event of his own when he saw Dean Ambrose slouched on his couch, Kevin curled up on his knee. 

"You... what..." Roman looked behind himself at the door. "HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?"

Dean shrugged. "I didn't know you had birds."

"They're lovebirds," Roman replied automatically, before dragging his brain back on track. "Where the HELL did you come from?! I've been looking for you for days, and you weren't anywhere and now you are on my couch and how did you get in? How do you even know where I LIVE?"

"Ve haff vays off making you talk," was all Dean replied with, as he stood up and stretched, sending Kevin to the floor in a disgruntled heap. "I wanted to say good-bye. There's, uh, there's some shit I gotta do. Ain't gonna be able to see anyone after, for a long time."

Roman was way too exhausted to parse that, so he just said,"Huh?" kind of stupidly. He knew it sounded dense, but he had a hard time following Dean even when he was rested.

Dean chewed his lip for a minute before stooping to pick up a battered cardboard carton. He weighed it in his hands, debating, before holding it out to Roman. "I got business with someone tonight."

Roman lifted an eyebrow as he took the box and lifted up the flaps. His eyebrows came dangerously close to orbiting completely around his skull when he saw what was inside and he thrust the flat parcel back at Dean like it was rigged to explode. "Oh, fuck. Oh shit, Dean, you can't."

"I have to." Dean's normally monotonous voice was flatter and gravellier than usual. "He hurt Seth. Bad. Hospital bad."

"No, I mean you actually can't. He's already dead. I mean, I think he is." Roman wasn't even sure if he knew whether _he_ was alive right now; everything was sleepy-fuzzy and unreal and Dean had just come about an inch from confessing a murder plot and Roman suddenly wanted chicken nuggets. Clearly, he must sit down.

So he did.

Right there, he slumped to the floor and leaned back against his front door. "Manny Jackson?"

"Yeah." Dean's eyes were hooded with suspicion, and Roman started to chuckle.

"Uh, he's fuckin dead, man. Shot yesterday afternoon in a police raid. I guess they beat you to it, since it was in the paper this morning."

Dean blinked at him, owlish. "You positive about that?"

"Big fat white guy, flames tattooed on his head? Blond goatee?" Dean nodded, and Roman rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Yep, that's the mugshot they stuck on the article. Jesus-" he gave Dean a hard stare. "You were going to kill him."

"He deserved it," Dean growled, venom dripping from his words. 

Roman got up, the sudden cold realization that Dean was, in fact, a very dangerous individual washing over him. "Dean, you can't just kill people, are you crazy?" He ignored Dean's visible flinch at the word choice. "You need help, man. I mean, I get why... I get it, it's because of what he did to Seth. Probably what he did to you too. But killing him? That's not a sign of a healthy mind."

"And what the fuck made you think I have a healthy mind, Roman?" Dean's tone told Roman he was in dangerous waters. Roman had never liked the ocean, never enjoyed the possibility of swimming with sharks, but he was in the deep now.

"I'm thinking that you have more problems that just the crystal," Roman replied. "You go to these lengths, you're willing to do this, for Seth? That's not romantic. That's not what people who care about other people do, not unless they're in mortal fucking danger. That's what obsessed people do."

"He hurt Seth," Dean repeated, like that was justification for murdering someone.

"Yes. And you've hurt Seth too." Roman tapped his jaw. Seth had refused to explain the bruise. Roman had guessed. Judging by Dean's expression right now, he'd been correct. "You got mad at him, and you hit him, right?"

"Yeah." Dean's hands fisted at his side, and he flexed his fingers. One hand came up to drum a staccato rhythm on his collarbone as he studied Roman. "Yeah, but we worked that out. Said I would try."

Roman pulled a hand through his tangled hair, blinking tiredly. "So don't you think some of trying might be getting some actual professional help?"

Dean's breath started hitching, tension flooding him as a lockbox of memory sprang open and flooded him. He leaned down and gripped the arm of the couch, soft whining noises in his throat as he worked hard at mooring himself firmly into reality. Dean deliberately schooled his voice into a semblance of his usual rough monotone and forced his eyes to meet Roman's. "I'm not going back to the hospital. I can't."

Ah. That made much more sense. Roman aligned that information into the mental jigsaw labelled 'Dean' in his head. "Nobody said anything about a hospital, man. Just, y'know, therapy. Hell, I go to therapy. Nothin wrong with it."

"You go to therapy?"

"Yeah. D'you know the burnout rate among EMTs? It's high as hell. Job's stressful." Roman rubbed at his right eye. "I have a one on one session every month and a weekly support group. There's about… I dunno, fifteen or so regulars." 

"You go," Dean repeated slowly. Roman nodded.

"It's not anything to be ashamed of. Sometimes, you need a little help sorting out your own head. Look, Dean, it can't hurt, right?"

Dean frowned at him, and Roman gave him an exasperated look. "Alright, so sometimes it can. But you can at least try. You told Seth you'd try."

"Think about it," was all Dean allowed, as he picked up the cardboard box and pushed past Roman, who reached out to catch his elbow.

"And go fucking see Seth, would you? I don't care if you think you need to be punished for what happened to him, but he sure doesn't. He misses you."

Dean grunted acknowledgement as the door clicked shut behind him. Roman let out his breath in a long whoosh and went to locate Kevin's leash. Just when he thought he had Dean more or less pinned down, he went and did that. It was worrying, being… friends, he supposed, for lack of a better word, with someone like Dean. He worried for himself, and he worried for Seth, and he even worried for Dean.

"It's too much for one man who is this damn tired," he yawned, bending down to fasten the leash to Kevin's collar. 

-

Dean's eyes tracked the city's lights reflecting off the water, the sharp wind pushing his hair into his eyes and back out again. He leaned over the cold concrete of the bridge, his lower lip pulled between his teeth, blue eyes contemplative.

Manny was dead. Actually dead. He was gone, forever, out of Dean's life. 

His eyes strayed to the cardboard box propped next to his elbow on the railing. He'd hoped that the cops would move quickly, but steps had to be taken, just in case they didn't. It was a matter of keeping Seth safe, he'd told himself. 

With one quick motion, not allowing himself to stop and think about what he was doing, he reached out his arm and sent the box spinning down into the black river below him. It opened mid-arc, the gun spiraling out and landing with a heavy splash before sinking down into the mud, lost among the trash at the bottom of the river.

Dean crouched down, palms flat against the gritty cement, and took a few deep breaths. He'd not been able to see any other way out of this, aside from taking care of Manny himself. He'd never killed anyone- he'd never even gone hunting- but if it meant that Manny was gone, he'd told himself he could deal with the fallout. 

And now he didn't have to, and all that pressure was lifted. He was free; granted, he was still waking up in fits, craving the release the meth gave him, he was still trapped in his own head, but he was at least free of Manny, a ball and chain that had dragged him down for years. With that shackle no longer binding him, he thought maybe he could move on. Maybe he could fix himself. He could at least try.

-

Seth blinked lazily at the television, a rerun of Family Feud that he'd watched earlier in the day. His fingers worried the medical tape on the back of his hand, holding his IV in. Jeremy's plastic bubble was curled into his palm, the movement of his fingers against the tape rattling the cracker around. He wished he'd thought to ask Brad to bring him a book or something when he'd stopped in earlier, although Seth was skeptical of his gym buddies' abilities in the field of literature. They were a good bunch, and he hated to stereotype, but they weren't that interested in reading anything that couldn't be loaded in a web browser.

"Come on, how can you be this bad at fast money?" Seth grumbled. "A sport played with a ball- baseball, football, basketball, soccer, how do you fuck that up and say hockey? Are you Canadian?"

Even Steve Harvey's mustache looked disappointed in the guest's inability to answer. 

Seth slumped down in the bed, his hospital gown riding up in the back, and let his attention wander again. He wondered if Kevin missed him. He wondered when they'd let him go back to work- soon, he hoped. He never would have guessed that he would miss his weird regulars, or his coworkers. He wanted to get back to working out- he could feel his ass expanding with every minute he laid in bed. And he wanted to sleep in his own damn bed.

He pushed his mind away from thoughts of the one person he wanted to see most, even as his fingers tightened on the thing that was the strongest reminder. Seth closed his eyes tightly, taking a few deep breaths and focusing on the game show noises to ground himself. 

When he opened them a few seconds later, he looked over at the door and started, his mouth falling open.

_"Dean?"_


	17. Chapter 17

Dean shuffled from foot to foot, uncertain. "Yeah." He took a couple of steps into the room as Seth struggled to push himself up one-armed. He held out a cluster of slightly-wilted flowers. "I, uh, I got these for you."

"You've been gone for a _week_ , Dean. Nobody's seen you anywhere."

"I know." Dean ducked his head, the bouquet falling to his side. "I had to, uh, I had to sort some shit out."

"You just _left_." Seth ploughed on, his italics picking up steam. "You _left_ and you didn't even leave me a _note_ , and then you show up here and think flowers are gonna make it okay?"

Dean shook his head. "Not trying to make it okay, just figure like… you bring sick people flowers, yeah? That's what regular people do. I know you're not like, sick, and they're not good flowers, cause I got em at Kroger or whatever, but I thought you might like em." Dean looked pensively at the sad little bouquet, the only one he'd had the money to buy. "We can smash them, if you want. Burn em. I don't care, I just wanted to bring you somethin."

Seth realized that this was a Dean Ambrose apology, and he held out his good arm. "Get over here, you big dork."

Dean shambled over to the bed, flowers clutched in front of him like a shield, and Seth reached up for him, pulling him down onto the bed. He pressed his nose into Dean's hair, greasy though it was, and sighed. "I missed you."

"Missed you too," Dean mumbled into his shoulder, tapping the back of Seth's neck with the bouquet. "You wanna smash these flowers?"

"No, I don't want to smash them," Seth chided. Dean offered them again, bonking them off Seth's nose, his face still buried in Seth's neck, and this time Seth took them. No one had ever brought him flowers before, except for his mom, and it was a sweet gesture. He wouldn't have figured Dean would think of something like that. "I don't have anything to put them in, though."

Dean sat up, looked around, and leaned forward. He plunked the flowers into the pitcher of ice water on the table next to the bed, because of course he did. Seth sighed. 

"What? It's water, isn't it?"

"It is, Dean. Thank you for the flowers."

"They're not great," Dean admitted, blue eyes fixed on them, fingers drumming in staccato on his dirty jeans. "Wanted to get you roses, but-" He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Money."

"I love them," Seth told him. He reached up to tug at the curls at the back of Dean's neck. "Now where the fuck have you been?"

"Told you," Dean muttered. "Had shit to take care of."

"Right, and you've been so busy in business meetings and wooing clients that you didn't have five minutes to stop and see me." Seth tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he'd been bored and lonely and in pain and _scared_. Dean hadn't even left a note, he'd just vanished without a trace, leaving Seth unconscious in the hospital, to wake up aching and alone.

"'m sorry." Dean was slumped over, still fixated on the flowers- tulips, violets and carnations, totaling all of six dollars and change- scuffing his feet along the shiny tiled floor. "I wanted to come in. I just figured it was… safer. For you. If I wasn't around."

Seth watched the muscles of Dean's shoulders move under his hoodie for a few seconds. There was an itch starting under his cast, and it hurt to breathe, but Dean was here. He hadn't left, he'd come back, and Seth swallowed, wishing he could bore into that skull and figure out what Dean was thinking, why he'd come back after being MIA for a full week. What the hell he'd been doing, aside from avoiding Seth.

"Manny's dead," he informed Dean's back.

"I know." Dean's tone went weirdly flat, and Seth reached over to touch him. Dean stiffened under Seth's hand, and forced himself to relax. It was Seth. Seth was safe. "Roman told me."

"You went to see Roman?" That stung; Dean would go see Roman, but not come to him?

"Yeah, earlier tonight. Ain't seen him for a week either, wanted to say good-bye."

A snarl of panic furled up in Seth's belly and he fought it back down, his heart pounding in his ears. "Why would you need to say good-bye?"

"Can I have my fish?" Dean asked, abruptly. His hands were shaking, and he shivered, unconsciously. "You still got Jeremy?"

"Yeah, uh-" Seth realized that the capsule was sitting next to his leg; he'd dropped it in shock when he'd seen Dean. He scooped it up and passed it over, returning Dean's little friend to his proper place in the world. "Here he is."

Dean cupped the bubble in his trembling hands, staring into it. "It's been a long week."

Seth wasn't sure if Dean was talking to Jeremy or him. He waited, as Dean took a few shaky breaths. 

"I wanted to come in," Dean repeated. "I couldn't. Bad enough you got hurt. But I came. Every night."

"Here?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Sat outside. The nurses didn't tell you?"

"Nah." Seth scooched closer and leaned up against Dean's back, cheek pressing against the cotton of his hoodie. "They never said anything."

Dean rolled Jeremy against his palm, the familiar rattle soothing after a week on his own. He hadn't wanted to worry Seth. He'd just wanted to assure himself that Seth would be safe once he left. He felt the scratch of a beard against his hoodie and then Seth's mouth was next to his ear.

"So where were you?"

Dean swallowed, fingers clenching on the plastic he held. "Went to take care of Manny."

"Take care of," Seth repeated slowly, drawing back to sit up. "That sounds ominous."

"I was going to kill him," Dean admitted, voice low, tone still flat. "For doing this to you." 

He turned and looked at Seth, taking in the bruises on his face, the bandage covering the stitches on his head, the left arm in a cast from wrist to shoulder. "It's my fault; I let myself get close to someone, and he took advantage of it. He was watching. He was _always_ fuckin watching."

"And you-" Seth cleared his throat, suddenly dry, his tongue lying in the desert of his mouth like a dead slug. "You decided to make it so he couldn't."

"I didn't know if the cops could handle it. I gave Handyman-"

"Henderson," Seth corrected mindlessly. His brain was still reeling, trying to process that Dean had just flatly admitted being willing to murder someone for him. "The detective."

"Yeah, him. Gave him as much info as I could, called in every favour from everyone I could think of for the last however many years. Tried to give him enough to put Manny away for as long as possible. But I didn't know if it was gonna be enough. And I wasn't gonna take the chance that he might decide to finish the job. That's why I had to say good-bye. Because I knew that once I did... _that_ , I wasn't gonna be coming back."

The itch under his cast was intensifying; Seth wanted to chew his own arm off. Anything to distract from this horrible conversation. "Do you hear yourself? You think that you going to prison for murder-"

"Shut up!" Dean hissed, as an orderly wheeled a cart past. "Not everyone needs to know."

Seth lowered his voice, although he wanted to grab Dean by the ears and bellow in his face. "You think going to prison for murder is helping me?"

"Helping you be safe from him, yeah." Dean looked at him, blue eyes earnest. "But I didn't."

"Because you realized how pants-on-head fucking _stupid_ that plan was, or because he was already dead?"

"You're mad at me," Dean mumbled, staring down at the capsule in his hands. "Roman was mad at me too."

"That's... what the fuck were you thinking, that we'd _applaud_ this brilliant idea?"

"I just wanted to keep you safe. Because I fuckin- I care about you. I don't do that. I don't care about people, I don't let myself get attached. But I got attached to you."

Seth leaned back against his pillows, feeling drained. He wondered, for probably the billionth time, how the hell he'd gotten mixed up with the likes of Dean. Who was apparently A-okay killing people. Apparently. He tried not to imagine Dean with a pistol, Dean with wild eyes, his unkempt hair falling into his face. Tried not to imagine Dean pulling the trigger. It was far, far too easy to picture. He closed his eyes. "You never answered me."

The silence spun out between them, the truth sitting heavy, a fat spider in a web of horror. 

"Because he was already dead," Dean confirmed. He rolled Jeremy between his calloused palms. "I don't know, maybe I wouldn't have been able to do it. Doesn't matter." Dean got to his feet and looked down at Seth, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "He's dead. I threw the gun in the river. And you hate me. So it really doesn't matter." 

He shoved his hands into the front of his hoodie and slouched away. He was nearly at the door before Seth called after him. 

"I don't hate you."

"No?" Dean leaned against the doorjam, genuine surprise written on his face. He'd expected Seth to blow up, send him away, never want to see him again, because he was next door to being a murderer. Even if it had been born out of desperation and fear, even if he was lashing out because he'd been cornered like a rat in a drainpipe, he'd still acquired the gun with every intention of using it. If he had to. If the police didn't take care of it. All he'd wanted was to be left in peace, to work off the claws of his addiction, and to be with Seth.

"Kind of the opposite, actually." There. It was out. Seth wasn't stupid; he knew what Dean leaving Jeremy behind meant. He knew that what Dean had intended to do to Manny was coming from those feelings, misguided though his idea had been. Seth gestured to him. "Come back here."

He pulled Dean back down onto the bed and kissed him, the entire week burning between them. "Just... please, God, never do something that stupid ever again."

"Don't think I'll have the chance again," Dean told him, scooting over to mold himself into Seth's side. Seth took the opportunity to tuck his head under Dean's chin, and Dean looped his arm over Seth's shoulder, holding him. "I was fine, until he hurt you. If he had just left us alone-"

"So there is an us," Seth murmured, tapping his fingers against his cast.

"Yeah. I guess there is an us." This was a lot, so much all at once, and it should have been terrifying, but it wasn't. It wasn't. Dean carded his fingers through Seth's long hair. This sort of thing would have sent him screaming into the sunset a few months ago, but right now, he didn't want anything other than to sit next to Seth, their hips pressed together, Seth solid and warm and _there_ , against his chest. He wondered if this was what it was like to be happy. He thought maybe it was.

"And yet, you keep talking about leaving."

"I just don't think you know what it's gonna mean if I stay."

"Can't be weirder than it has been so far." Seth sat up long enough to look Dean dead in the eye. "Can it?"

Dean shrugged. "Probably will be, now that you said that."

"Do you want to stay?"

"Do you want want me to stay?" Dean hedged, his guard up again. He wasn't about to spill his guts until he knew what Seth wanted.

"I do." Seth swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hoped Dean wasn't about to flee, but it was fighting to get loose, a blind bird fluttering against its cage. "I love you, Dean. I have no idea how, or when, or why, but I do." Dean's arm was close enough for Seth to reach with his plaster-bound arm. His fingers tightened on Dean's wrist. "Please don't run away from me."

Dean could feel Seth's eyes boring into him, and he didn't dare meet that gaze. He wanted to, he did, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure what Seth would see in his own eyes. So instead of looking at Seth and returning the sentiments, he rolled Jeremy down his thigh, trying to keep his hand from shaking. 

No one had ever told him they loved him. A muscle jumped in Dean's jaw as he battened down the hatches of his feelings. He wasn't good at this. Never had been, and he knew, deep down, he never would be. His whole life, he'd never thought he would ever deserve anyone's love. He snuffled, lifted his shoulder in a shrug, tapped Jeremy against his leg, all the things he did to try to shift attention from how awkward he was feeling.

"I don't want to run away. I'm just... scared, I guess. Never had, like... a thing. Like this. Before now." 

"It's called a relationship, I think," Seth murmured, tucking his nose back under Dean's chin. He hadn't expected Dean to say it, and it didn't bother him. He looked at the goldfish cracker Dean was holding, remembered waking up with the capsule under his hand. Not knowing what it had cost Dean to leave it, maybe, but recognizing nonetheless what it meant.

No, he didn't need to hear the words.

"Yeah. S'like... a regular-person thing. I'm not a regular person. Never have been."

Seth reflected on that for a moment. "No, you're really not. I don't think I'd want you to be. But you're mine."

"I... kind of like being yours," Dean replied, smiling against Seth's hair. "You're the only person who's ever gave enough of a fuck to put up with me."

"I've had folks tell me I'm pretty high-maintenance. Hell-" Seth wriggled around so that his back was flush with Dean's chest and let all his tension whoosh out with a long sigh. "I've had people break up with me because of it. I don't think I have room to judge anyone else for their quirks."

Dean grunted. "If quirks is the word you wanna use."

"For lack of a better term. Have you been home at all?"

"Nope. Clean break, y'know? Roman's got the dog."

"I know. _He's_ been coming to see me."

"I been comin to see you," Dean defended himself. "You just weren't conscious at the time. It still counts." He tapped Seth's cast. "Does it hurt?"

"Like hell."

"How's your head?"

"Also hurts. So do my ribs. But they're cutting me loose tomorrow, thank God. I've never been so bored in my damn life."

Dean winced. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You didn't beat the shit out of me."

"Yeah, but-"

"Don't." Seth twisted his neck to look up at Dean. "Not your fault. It was Manny's fault, and Manny's dead, so it's done. Well-" Seth shifted his arm. "In eight weeks or so, it will be."

"I still feel bad."

"Dean, if you had been there, the only difference would be that we'd both be in here. Remember what happened before Christmas? You think me being there would have changed that?"

"I guess, yeah." Dean nuzzled Seth's ear. "I really missed you."

"I missed you too. Kind of got fond of you."

"Kind of got fond of you too." That, Dean could say. And he could hold Seth, and pet his hair, and try to be everything that Seth needed. Someone who could be depended on.

A nurse came in with Seth's medication then, and smiled at them. Dean grinned back at her; Angelina, her name was, the one who'd brought him the tea a few days ago. "You finally came in, hey?"

"Figured I should." Dean tugged on Seth's hair. "He deserves more than me hiding in the hallway."

"He does," she agreed, handing Seth the little cup with his antibiotics and injecting a syringe into the IV; morphine, Dean figured. Seth must still be in a lot of pain.

Once she'd gone, Seth allowed himself to sink into a painkiller-induced sleep, still tucked against Dean's chest. Right before he went under, he reached out with his good arm and rested his hand on Dean's, over Jeremy.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Jeremy (Cover Art)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540863) by [Keeper of Tales (CodenameLoki)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameLoki/pseuds/Keeper%20of%20Tales)




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